


trust in me and fall as well

by kelidahauk



Series: crow black dreams [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dissociation, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Feelings Realization, Grinding, Intimacy, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Kageyama Tobio, Possessive Tsukishima Kei, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Riding Crops, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, Tsukishima Kei is a Little Shit, Tsukishima Kei is a Mess, foes to hoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelidahauk/pseuds/kelidahauk
Summary: Curiously, Kei asks, “How did you know his eyes were lying?“You taught me,” Tobio says.He tilts his head, giving Tobio a quizzical look.  “What do you mean?  How did I teach you?  I’ve never told you what tells I look for when I question people.”Tobio shakes his head.  “You didn’t have to.  They looked like yours.  When you lie to me.”Kei feels his stomach drop and he swallows hard. “I don’t lie to you,” he says easily.  It's a damn lie.“Yes,” Tobio says, his voice cold.  “Like that.  They look just like that.”
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: crow black dreams [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845355
Comments: 35
Kudos: 135





	1. pillowtalk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ItsZei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsZei/gifts).



> This is potentially the darkest fic I've written yet, and my last one contained sodomy with a gun. So please read the tags carefully and proceed with caution. 
> 
> This fic explores Yakuza AU Tsukishima Kei's past, which contains significant child abuse. There is no sexual abuse, but there is definitely heavy mental, emotional, and physical abuse. There are various mental health issues discussed in this fic, including: post-traumatic stress disorder, general anxiety, dissociation, panic attacks and an eating disorder. I conducted significant research when writing this fic and have attempted to portray these issues as accurately as I can. 
> 
> This fic is not an attempt to glorify mental health issues, nor is it pain just for the sake of angst: research shows that child maltreatment roughly doubles the likelihood that an individual will engage in criminal activity as an adult (Currie & Tekin, 2006; Herrenkohl et al, 2017). This is a character study of Yakuza AU Tsukishima Kei; it's an exploration of how he became Karasuno-kai's silver-tongued shingiin, and it examines his motivations and his developing relationship with Kageyama Tobio (who has plenty of issues of his own). 
> 
> This fic takes place sometime after ["the sound of silence"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542211) but before ["the end is all that's ever true."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25818424)
> 
> There is fanart for this now! My friend Elsket did this hilarious "Trash Tsukki" where [Kei is leaning against a dumpster](https://twitter.com/elsket/status/1313719608189231105), drunk and smoking and contemplating his poor life choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a refresher, here are some of the yakuza ranks used in this story:  
> oyabun - don / leader of the family  
> wakagashira - second in command  
> saiko-komon - advisor to oyabun, third in command in Karasuno  
> shingiin - family lawyer  
> hitokiri - assassin  
> shugosha - bodyguard  
> oji - prince  
> irezumi - symbolic tattoos

_Nobody but us, bodies together  
_ _I love to hold you close, tonight and always_  
 _I love to wake up next to you._  
-zayn

It’s deliciously warm when Kei wakes up, wrapped in the sheets with Tobio. Neither one of them is a passive sleeper and they never awaken in the same position they drift off in, so it’s no wonder that their limbs are a tangled mess this morning. Kei takes his time coming to, yawning and blinking his eyes at the light flooding into his room, trying to figure out why it’s so goddamn bright. 

His bedroom is on the second floor of the loft and it has no windows of its own, but the wall that overlooks the living area downstairs is a sheet of glass. They’d forgotten to close the privacy curtains last night, as preoccupied as they had been when they’d tumbled into bed together in the darkness. Kei doesn’t mind; the sun makes it warmer and he loves the heat. He’s spent too many years suffering from the cold.

It’s easy enough to stretch his right arm and leg, but his entire left side is trapped underneath Tobio, who’s lying beside him. An ankle is hooked around his calf and somehow a pillow has gotten shoved onto his forearm. Kei flexes his fingers and toes, careful not to move too much, careful not to disturb Tobio. He slowly shifts onto his side so he can better observe the scene before him. His guard dog is usually an early riser so Kei very rarely gets to see him like this, all relaxed in his sleep.

The perpetual angry pout Tobio wears is gone, smoothed away by slumber. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes deeply, regularly, and there’s a little bit of drool dried at the corner of his mouth closest to the mattress. Both of his arms are curled up to his chest, but the black wings of the Karasuno crow irezumi peek out from behind them, flaring over his heart. 

His cheeks are slack, the lines on his forehead relaxed; he looks young, so young like this, and Kei’s heart aches at the vulnerability he sees. If he didn’t know Tobio, he could never believe that the man lying next to him is Tokyo’s most feared assassin. But in the bright morning light, Kei’s eyes can just barely pick up a delicate tracery of haphazard scars across his chest and shoulders and arms, war wounds typically hidden underneath soft black clothing, proof of his time on the streets. He longs to touch them but he is afraid he’ll awaken the hitokiri if he does so. Kei wants to look a little longer, so he restrains himself. 

Tobio’s kicked the blankets completely off of himself and they’re tangled around his feet. He’s a furnace on legs and he gets hot a lot easier than Kei, who is surprised that the heat from the early morning sun hasn’t woken him yet. The light kisses his body, illuminating every last muscular curve beautifully, because Kei has at last managed to convince Tobio that sleeping naked is superior to wearing sweatpants to bed.

 _“What if we’re attacked?”_ Tobio had asked skeptically when he suggested it. _“Clothing will help protect us.”_

 _“I think it’s altogether more terrifying to have a naked man come at you with a knife,”_ Kei had responded in his driest possible voice, desperately trying to keep the smile from his face. “ _Consider the intimidation factor. A naked man runs at you and you know he’s a badass.”_

Somehow that explanation had worked, or maybe Tobio was just looking for any reasonable excuse to shed that last layer between them. And now, in soft and sleepy moments like these, Kei gets to see a side of Tobio that’s hidden from the rest of the world. It’s his and his alone, so he spends the time memorizing every last dip and curve of Tobio’s body, every breath and soft sound. He stashes them away in a box labeled _Tobio,_ ready to access when he needs happy thoughts.

Gently, very gently, he reaches out and places his hand on Tobio’s abdomen. The muscles twitch reflexively under his palm as he splays his long fingers out. Tobio is typically over-sensitive to light touches, shivering away from them when he’s awake, so it’s only when he’s asleep like this that Kei can get his fill. The skin under his hand is so soft, at odds with Tobio’s hard demeanor. Kei lets his fingertips ghost over it, luxuriating in the feel, sliding his palm down a hip to rest it against a thigh. They’re solid muscle underneath his fingers, the product of long hours spent in the gym and longer hours spent running the streets.

As his hands drift over Tobio's muscles, he selfishly decides he needs to feel Tobio's hands on _him._ It's time to wake him up. 

“Tobio,” he whispers, shifting his body a little closer, careful not to jostle his arm too much. It won’t do to startle an assassin, even one that’s currently sharing his bed. “Tobi—”

Long eyelashes flutter and deep blue eyes blink at him before closing again. Tobio lets out a little grunt and turns his head, burying it into the pillow. It’s fucking adorable and Kei takes the opportunity to scoot even closer. He pushes his leg forward, the one Tobio’s got his ankle resting on, tugging gently on his thigh as he does so. Obediently, sleepily, Tobio slides his leg up and hooks it over Kei’s hip.

“Tobio,” he tries again, reaching out to run his fingers through dark, silky hair. “ _Wake up_ , Tobi, I’m cold—”

That complaint always works, no matter how sleepy Tobio may be, and this morning is no exception. It’s an easy little white lie and it’s so worth telling because Kei finds himself immediately under attack. His left arm is suddenly freed, but he’s being shoved over toward the edge of the bed, brutally manhandled. And then just as quickly, Tobio pulls him back, tugging the blanket over them both, wrapping strong arms around his chest. Kei finds his entire backside pressed up against Tobio’s front, and he grins in satisfaction as Tobio’s breath huffs across the back of his neck.

“Dumbass,” Tobio mutters directly into his skin. “S’hot. Why’re you always cold?”

The unexpected question makes him shiver. Tobio has never asked him that before, not after all this time, and Kei feels himself stiffen automatically. It’s a reasonable question but it immediately sends him into a shitty headspace. Tobio must feel the tension because he raises his head from where it’s resting against Kei’s back. 

“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds confused, still clouded with sleep. “Kei, what—”

Kei takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He loops his own long arms over Tobio’s, where they’re linked around his chest. He can feel his heart beat under Tobio’s hands, faster with his anxiety, faster with decades-old fear and distress. Despite himself, he breaks into a cold sweat.

“Bad memories,” is all he says, not wanting to elaborate. 

_No one cares; there's nothing else to say._

But Tobio hums inquisitively, and it’s such a blatant cue for him to keep speaking that Kei finds himself doing so. Who is he to deny his Tobio, his shugosha, anything?

“My parents,” he says, haltingly, and Tobio’s grip on him tightens instinctively. It's a subject he doesn't talk about; he's only mentioned them once or twice, but he’s said enough that Tobio knows they're bad news. “They were really poor… my father was a shatei under old man Sawamura. You know that. He ran drugs for the family, but then my mother would steal some of them, or take the money to buy more… they wouldn’t pay the bills and the power would go out… in the winter, we’d get so cold—”

Kei fucks up and he immediately catches himself, hoping it’s not too late. Tobio's so sharp, so observant. 

_Aki_ , Kei screams at himself in frustration. _Don’t think about Akiteru. Keep him safe._

Kei may be Karasuno’s silver-tongued shingiin, but he’s been finding his fucking traitor tongue slipping around Tobio a lot lately. They’ve gotten to be so goddamn comfortable together. It’s dangerous as hell, and Kei reminds himself to keep his fucking mouth shut. 

“— _I_ would be so cold. Winter was the worst. I hate winter.” 

Kei feels slightly guilty, lying to Tobio like this. But the story and the lie are such an integral part of who he is now that he’s able to push the guilt aside fairly quickly. He has years of practice doing so. Kei tucks it down, buries it in a box labeled with his brother’s name, and tells himself, _stop fucking thinking already._

He tries his best.

Tobio’s hum sounds disapproving now, and Kei doesn’t know how it’s possible, but somehow he’s drawn even further into his bodyguard’s warmth. They’re both large men, but Kei’s indisputably taller; still, it feels like Tobio has somehow managed to engulf him completely, wrapping him in his heat. He scrunches up behind him and Kei moves too, curling in on himself. The backs of his thighs are pressed against Tobio’s strong quads and he can feel a nose bury itself in his blond curls, inhaling deeply. 

It’s dangerous, how lax he becomes around Tobio, how comfortable he’s gotten with him. But he can’t fucking help himself when he’s being held like this. He can’t help himself when he wakes up like this on such a perfect morning, when he’s able to fool himself into thinking that someone actually fucking cares. Surrounded by Tobio’s heat and his smell and the sense of safety his presence always brings, Kei _breathes_ , allowing himself to remember. 

🌛👑🌜

It’s a common enough scene, one that plays out multiple times over his childhood. Kei and Akiteru shiver together on their thin futon, wearing all the clothes they own, two threadbare blankets wrapped around them. It’s the sum of all their worldly possessions and Akiteru, at all of eight years old, holds Kei much like Tobio currently does. 

The difference is this: while Tobio’s hands cradle him gently, encouraging him to speak, Akiteru’s hands are clamped firmly over Kei’s mouth, keeping his three-year-old brother from crying in his distress as they watch their father hit their mother.

 _“Stupid slut,”_ their father screams, rage distorting his features. 

It’s always _stupid slut_ or _stupid bitch_ or _you whore,_ never soft things like _love_ or _baby_ or _sweetheart_ , not even when he’s in a good mood. It’s no wonder Kei thinks of Tobio as _asshole_ most of the time when that’s the example that’s been set for him. How can he be expected to show affection when he can’t remember ever receiving it from anyone other than his older brother, who learned it from their mother before the drugs took hold?

Their father’s fists fall heavily, blackening an eye, splitting a lip. Kei fights the misbegotten urge to run to his mother, to cling to her like Akiteru clings to him in order to arrest his movements. It would do no good. And she wouldn't do it for him, anyway, so why bother? 

_“Didja spend the money on your fuckin’ drugs, you goddamn whore? We got no fuckin’ lights now—”_

Their mother doesn’t fight back; she never does. Instead, she lets him hit her, that lazy, self-indulgent smile never leaving her face. She’s gone somewhere far away, somewhere pain and cold and hunger can’t reach her, leaving her husband and her children far behind. When he’s old enough to understand, Kei will be jealous. As a child, he’s terrified of that blank look. 

She hits the floor with a hard thud, her pale hair spreading out in a halo around her. The only movement she makes is to curl in on herself, to protect her stomach from the kicks that are sure to follow. Kei learns how to take a hit by watching his mother take so many: put on a placid expression, go limp and roll with the punches. He will be a pro by the time he reaches Akiteru’s age.

🌛👑🌜

He shivers in Tobio’s arms, feeling the cold and the darkness from his past even now in his warm and sun-drenched room. His stomach churns with phantom hunger and he’s inexplicably angry with himself, furious because he’s usually able to keep these memories stored away, locked somewhere in the back of his brain where they won’t bother him. This one came out of nowhere, ruining the mood, sapping away all the good feelings and the warmth he’d stored by watching Tobio sleep.

“Kesha,” Tobio slurs, and Kei thinks he’s drifted off again, mumbling nonsense as he dreams. But then he says, “Kei. Take it then. My heat. S’all yours.” 

His voice is still thick with sleep, but it’s such a raw, open statement; it’s a hit Kei isn’t prepared to take. He still rolls with it, and a different sort of heat floods through him. Kei finds himself pushing back against Tobio’s chest wantonly, his spine arching as he rocks his hips, teasing, _needing_.

“Tobio—” he starts, turning his head. _“Tobi, I need—”_

“I’m here,” Tobio says quietly, calmly. 

He regards Kei through half-lidded eyes that are still hazy with sleep. They are becoming clearer with each passing second and it hurts to look into them for too long because they _know_. Somehow Tobio has come to know every part of Kei that he has permitted his bodyguard to see… and many parts that he has not. It’s terrifying how easily Tobio sees him, how clearly he sees through him with those piercing blue eyes. Kei forces himself to look, allowing himself to be exposed under that gaze.

“I need—” Kei squirms, letting go of Tobio’s arms so he can grab onto his thigh instead, digging his fingers into taut muscle, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

“I’m here,” Tobio says again, capturing Kei’s mouth with his own. 

It’s a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, like he’s afraid Kei will break under the weight of his lips and his tongue. Kei’s heart beats faster as Tobio flicks his tongue over his lips, coaxing him to open up. Two broad palms press briefly against his chest, feeling his heart flutter underneath them, before slipping lower, lower, _lower_ , hot and heavy.

_“I need—”_

“I’m here,” Tobio says again, when they’re joined together and Kei’s whole body is flushed and shaking with passion. 

Heat radiates off of both of them as they move lazily in the brilliant morning sun, unhurried, luxuriating in the feeling of existing as one. The sheets have been kicked aside; they’re burning up, the cold long forgotten.

“I know,” Kei breathes into Tobio’s lips. “You always are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those visual people, here's a shitty sketch from my head of [the floorplan of Kei's loft.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/727177437384802334/734783017423470622/111297753_322223152267218_357126158871025326_n.png) And here's [an inspiration picture](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/727177437384802334/730845415901233182/apartment-style4.jpg) that I found on Google (should give you the general aesthetic).


	2. sober

_I am just a worthless liar_  
 _I am just an imbecile_  
 _I will only complicate you_  
 _Trust in me and fall as well.  
_ -staind

It’s not the first unwanted flashback and it won’t be the last. That’s the problem with packing your issues up in little boxes, storing them away in the attic of your memory; sometimes the cardboard decays, spilling out awfulness like poison. Kei’s spent a decade building up walls, shoring up his reserves to hold the very worst of them back, but sometimes they still slip through. 

These thoughts, his unwanted memories, are invasive and they’re becoming _pervasive_ ; sometimes they creep in when he least expects them, triggered by the most innocuous activity. It was easier to avoid them when he lived by himself, when he went about his life at his own pace. But now Tobio’s here, and sometimes his shugosha doesn’t know when to stop. It’s not Tobio’s fault, exactly; while he may struggle with forming words, Kei struggles with sharing his feelings. He pushes them aside and bottles them up, but he is still somehow always surprised when they explode.

Kei works from home as much as possible, forsaking his offices at the casino and the bakery for his laptop and his couch. It’s safer, the sanctity of his relatively-anonymous loft, since tensions are still running high between Karasuno and Seijoh. Oikawa-oyabun’s death and Oikawa Tooru’s ascendance to the throne have only made them worse. 

While it has been ages since Kei and Tobio have been on house arrest for their own safety, Sawamura-oyabun has made it explicitly clear that Tobio is Kei’s bodyguard from now until forever. He still serves as Karasuno-kai’s hitokiri, but those jobs are fewer and far between. Karasuno has done such a good job of cleaning up their territory that it’s a rare occasion when the Black Dog needs to be unleashed and sent to kill. Tobio spends most of his days and nights now with Kei, who is a big enough target in Tokyo’s underworld to require a full-time protector.

Karasuno-kai’s saiko-komon is third in command of the family and that rank warrants constant protection. Azumane is Sawamura’s shugosha. Shimizu is Sugawara’s shugosha. Kageyama is Tsukishima’s shugosha. It’s how life is when one becomes a leader of a yakuza crime family. Kei does not exactly _enjoy_ having a bodyguard, but he enjoys having Tobio. 

_It could be worse_ , Kei reminds himself on the rare occasions when he gets irritated at the lack of privacy. _It could be someone other than Tobio._

He would never admit it, but he is grateful to Suga-san for making this assignment long ago. It’s worked out well, comparatively speaking.

On days like today when he has an actual trial to attend, Kei unleashes his guard dog. It’s a mutual agreement, really: Tobio dislikes the courthouse with its strict no-weapons policy and he’d rather not wear the impractical, fancy clothing he has to put on in order to accompany Kei into the courtroom. He’s begrudgingly acknowledged that the courthouse is one of the safest places for his pretty boy shingiin since it’s so hard to bring weapons inside. Kei can’t outrun a bullet but he’s fast enough to avoid damn near anything else.

Tobio has deemed it safe enough for Kei to drive to the courthouse on his own. On those days, he zips through traffic in the gunmetal gray Supra he considers to be his _lawyer car_ , all speed and flash and wealth. Tobio permits him to go alone as long as he drives straight to work and straight home, like he’s some rebellious teenager out joyriding in the family car. And Kei drives it like he is one, whipping around turns and gunning it as the street lights change from red to green. He’s always been reckless.

While Kei presents evidence and cross-examines witnesses, Tobio gets groceries and cleans his guns. Later, Tobio will stalk his prey halfway across the city, a ghost on the rooftops while Kei does the dishes and sharpens his blades. It works for them, this domesticity; they’re still figuring their shit out, but they’re learning.

Tonight when he arrives home, Tobio’s in the kitchen preparing dinner. He’s not a good cook, but he’s better than Kei. He can steam rice and stir fry vegetables and grill fish, and that’s all that’s really needed, anyway. Kei hears him from the genkan, the steady thud of the knife on the chopping block, and he smells the oil heating in the pan. He abandons his fancy wingtips and pads to the kitchen in his socks, dropping his leather work bag on the table as he walks past it.

Sure enough, Tobio stands at the counter preparing their dinner. He must not plan to go out killing later because he’s dressed to stay in. A pair of pale gray sweats hugs his thighs and he’s got on one of Kei’s old faded Berkeley t-shirts, all navy blue and gold and blazoned with the business school logo. It’s too tight across his chest and he looks fucking incredible in it. Kei can’t decide if he wants to leave it like it is or rip it off of him. He settles for the former; the latter can come after dinner, when it’s time for dessert.

“Tadaima,” he says, leaning over to rest his chin on Tobio’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

“Okaeri,” Tobio replies easily, the knife slicing through red peppers and mushrooms. He doesn’t move, but somehow he still seems to shift within Kei’s arms. The rigidness melts from his shoulders and the look of intense concentration on his face fades away.

Affection is easier between them now, here in the protection of the loft. Outside, Tsukishima and Kageyama are all business and even though Sawamura and Sugawara and Nishinoya _know_ , well, none of them pry. Inside, Kei risks losing a finger by reaching out and snagging a piece of pepper off the board while Tobio chops. It’s not really a risk because Tobio’s the one holding the knife and he’s a fucking professional killer. His proficiency with a blade is so goddamn hot and Kei can’t get enough of it. He bites into the pepper to distract himself, obnoxiously crunching it right next to Tobio’s ear.

“Go wash,” Tobio orders, wrinkling his nose as he takes a deep breath. “You stink.”

Kei swallows the pepper and snickers silently, giving Tobio a squeeze before walking away to do so. It’s an old argument between the two of them; he doesn’t stink, he just doesn’t smell like _home_ after spending all day at the courthouse. Tobio's senses are always in overdrive and he doesn't like smelling the outside world on Kei. 

To satisfy his shugosha, Kei climbs the stairs to the second floor of his loft and showers without ceremony. He spends a few moments eyeing the bathtub, wondering if he can sucker Tobio into it with him later. It won’t hurt to try. 

It’s maybe fifteen minutes later when he makes his way back downstairs, wearing a black t-shirt over a pair of flannel pajama pants. The shirt is just a little short, barely covering the dip to his hips, and it's a little loose in the chest. It's very soft and exceedingly comfortable. His hair’s a wet mess, all spikes and curls that stick out every which way from where he roughly toweled most of the water out of it. Absently, as if by habit, Tobio reaches his left hand out to ruffle his hair while his right busily fluffs the rice in its pot on the stove.

Kei grins at the touch and pulls out plates and chopsticks, setting them on the counter next to the stove. Tobio serves their food: a scoop of rice, a pile of vegetables, and a crispy piece of mackerel each. He gives Kei a look of consideration before scooping an extra serving of rice onto his plate, shoving it at him unceremoniously. Kei is immediately irritated, his good mood shattered. 

_Motherfucker_ , he thinks, narrowing his eyes and twisting his lips into an angry little smirk. 

“Stop trying to stuff me,” he says as he takes the plate, picking up a pair of chopsticks. “I’m not even hungry.”

“You’re never hungry,” Tobio says with a scowl, waiting for Kei to start eating. It’s something he’s always done since he first started preparing their meals, back when Kei was originally injured and Suga-san assigned him as his bodyguard.

Kei scoops up a helping of rice and vegetables and stuffs it in his mouth, mirroring Tobio’s scowl. He takes his time chewing and Tobio starts methodically eating his own food, taking three bites for every one of Kei’s. They stand side by side in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. Even though Kei’s aggravated, he can't help hooking a socked foot around Tobio’s ankle, pressing their thighs together while they eat silently. It’s an old, familiar argument between the two of them. 

_“You’re so skinny,”_ Tobio had said, back when he first started trying to stuff him with more food. _“Even Hinata could snap you like a twig.”_

Kei hears Tobio’s voice like he’s speaking now, even though it’s an old argument, and he responds without intending to.

“I can’t help it,” he says, and the words come from somewhere deep inside, bitter and angry and awful. “You forget how to be hungry when you never have food.”

Tobio freezes, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and Kei wonders what’s wrong before they hit him, his words; he’d said that aloud, without even thinking about it and definitely without meaning to. His fingers feel thick and stiff suddenly. He drops his own chopsticks and his plate, too. They clatter to the floor and there’s a sharp crack as the ceramic shatters, rice spilling over bamboo planks. 

It’s so hot all of a sudden in the loft and Kei can feel the color rushing to his face. He’s rushing, too, out of the kitchen; he staggers into the living area like he’s half-drunk, even though it’s been ages since he’s had even a beer. His heart races and it feels like he’s choking on the rice he already swallowed. Then the terror hits him all at once, and the shame, and he’s four years old again and crying in the bare kitchen of their frozen apaato.

🌛👑🌜

He’s so cold and he’s so hungry, and Akiteru has just asked their father if they can share one of the packs of ramen from the cabinet. Kei stands behind his brother, wrapped in both their blankets, shivering. 

“Please, just the one,” Akiteru says, his eyes downcast, his voice soft and deferential. “We’ll share it, oto-san. Kei hasn’t eaten all day, he needs to eat something—”

Kei does his best not to wince as the punch lands solidly on Akiteru’s growling stomach. The hits are always somewhere easy to hide, where Akiteru’s teacher won’t see them. At nine years old, his brother should know better than to provoke their father’s rage like this. But he also knows Kei is cold and hungry and because he’s the best nii-san in all of Tokyo, he sacrifices himself. Akiteru doubles over, his eyes wide, gasping for air that does not come.

“If you want him to eat,” their father says, “you should feed him. Did you go to work today? Did you buy the ramen? No? Then why do you think you should have any say in who gets to eat it?”

Kei fights the urge to run to Aki, to cling to him, to hide him under the blanket where they’ll both be safe. At four years old, he already knows that it’ll just make things worse for the both of them if he does so. 

“Are you?” his father asks, looming over him suddenly. 

Kei shrinks back into his blanket, shaking his head furiously because he doesn’t understand what he’s being asked, but he knows his answer has to be “no.” 

_Don’t hit me don’t hit me don’t hit me_ —

“Fucking talk,” his father demands of Kei as Akiteru begins to pick himself off the floor. “Answer me, goddammit. Are you hungry?”

“No, oto-san,” Kei whispers as his stomach tries to eat itself, clenching and growling like a wild animal. “I’m not,” he says as tears well up in his eyes. 

He furiously blinks them back because he knows that’s another way to draw their father’s irritation. He’s four years old and he’s already learning how to lie. It’s a skill that’ll serve him well later in life.

_Go away go away go away—_

His lie isn’t enough, or he’s not good enough at lying yet, or his father’s just an asshole. The jury’s out on that one. The elder Tsukishima picks him up and sits him on the counter, forces him to watch as he boils water in the kettle, as he prepares the pack of ramen. It’s so fucking good when Kei begins to eat it, tears leaking from his eyes because Akiteru’s not permitted to share and he deserves dinner, too. His father’s chin sets stubbornly as Kei finishes the bowl, and he rips open a second package. He prepares it, too.

“You still look hungry,” he says, and Akiteru’s eyes are wide behind him.

Kei doesn’t try to protest; he eats this helping, too. He’s _hungry,_ after all, but by the time he reaches the bottom of the second bowl, his stomach feels uncomfortably full.

“Oto-san,” Akiteru tries to protest as their father pours boiling water over a third packet. “I think—”

Akiteru hits the ground again and Kei starts on the third bowl. It’s so much, it’s too much; he lets out a little whimper and his father narrows his eyes at him.

“Akiteru said you were _hungry_ ,” his father says, his voice high and mocking. “So _eat._ ”

Kei eats and eats until he can’t eat anymore and then his father hits him, too. He takes the hit like he learned by watching their mother, going limp and flopping like the noodles he just ate, the noodles the fist in his stomach drives out of him. He vomits, and vomits, and vomits, all over the kitchen floor. It doesn’t feel like he’ll ever stop vomiting, he ate so much. Their father watches impassively from the doorway and Akiteru holds onto him while he shakes and spews.

“Eat,” his father says, looking down at the mess. “Akiteru can share now. We don’t want anything to go to waste.” 

It doesn’t, because they are so hungry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Kei's "lawyer car" here: [2020 Toyota Supra](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/710294584349032482/759317183305613362/keisupra.jpg), released only in Japan. I've wanted one of these fuckers since the original Fast & Furious movie. Maybe one day my dreams can come true. For now, my character gets to live them for me. (Yes, I am well aware they don't have a back seat. Don't worry. When Tsukikage defile it, they'll just fuck on the hood.)
> 
> Kei: Stop trying to stuff me.  
> Tobio: That's not what you said last night.


	3. I scare myself

_I scare myself with the way that I need you_  
 _I’d crawl through hell if it meant that I could keep you_  
 _I scare myself: I come unraveled._  
-beth crowley

“Kei,” Tobio is saying, but he can’t hear him through his terror and his memories. “What’s wrong? Kei, Kei… _Kesha—”_

He can’t hear Tobio over the blood rushing through his ears or over the pounding of his own heart. But he sees his shadow when it looms over him and he strikes, swinging wildly, like a child would. Tobio easily avoids the blow. Kei collapses into himself, pulling his knees up to protect his stomach, just like he learned from his mother. There’s more noise and Tobio’s shadow comes back, so he crosses his arms over his face and tucks his head down for safety, too. Footsteps recede and Kei shakes on the floor, and then they return. His muscles clench, anticipating.

“Kesha,” Tobio says again, “we are moving now.” 

The words are static in his ears, nonsensical. Warm and gentle hands scoop him up and drag him bodily across the room. Kei fights them, kicking his feet against the floor, clawing at Tobio’s arms. He’s slung over the back of the couch, bent in half, and the force of landing in that position drives the air out of him briefly. His ass sticks up in the air and his face hits the cushions before he catches himself with his hands, struggling to breathe.

As he gasps for breath, something’s laid on the cushions directly in front of his face, catching his attention. It’s a heavy bokken, a kendo sword meant for practicing drills. It’s stained a rich black color and it’s worn smooth. Automatically, Kei picks up the sword, no longer attempting to stand. His fingers fit into grooves on the grip as if by magic. 

Kei twists the bokken in his hands over and over as he hangs over the back of the couch, sliding his fingertips into the small indentations that seem like they were made for them. It feels nice in his hands, so heavy and solid and familiar. He wraps his hand around the grip, marveling at how _right_ it feels within them. He’s too preoccupied with the bokken to notice Tobio moving behind him, positioning himself carefully, _swinging._

The pain is sudden and sharp, blooming across the backs of his thighs. Kei gasps as his mind blanks out, beautifully clear, his memories driven away by the force of the blow. His fingers twist spasmodically on the grip of his bokken. Behind him, Tobio is poised to strike again, their riding crop clenched tightly in his hand. He’s wearing a curious expression, one Kei’s never seen before; his eyes are wide with some strange mix of fear and worry, his lips tight.

He swings the riding crop again, harder this time, like he’s building up more courage with each blow. It was like this the first time Kei introduced him to the idea of using it, when they had to learn his tolerance together. But Tobio _knows_ at this point how hard Kei likes to be hit, he _knows_ how a solid strike always puts him in a beautiful headspace. The part of Kei’s brain that is coming back to life, tucking bad memories back into their boxes, wonders why Tobio is being so hesitant again.

The crop lands for a third time, maybe half an inch lower than before, and Kei cries out involuntarily. It's a shocking sensation. His legs are usually bare when this happens. His pajama pants take away from the sting of the leather on the back of his right thigh, but the thud of the rod on his left is still deeply satisfying. The sensation is so wholly unique, so wholly _them_ and their relationship, that it snaps him back into himself. He feels the welts rising on his skin as it burns and he can clearly picture what the back of his thighs will look like later; he’s seen it enough times in the mirror to know what to expect.

The fourth strike is the hardest yet, delivered with their normal level of force. The world comes back to life around him when it lands, all razor-sharp edges and bright colors. He’s _exhausted_ , more tired than he can ever remember being in his life, and his heart is still racing. He’s soaked in sweat and there’s a lingering sense of fear and shame, but he knows where he is and who he’s with. He doesn’t need the crop anymore. He needs Tobio.

“Tobio, _Tobi—_ I’m okay, stop, _I’m okay—_ ” 

Kei scrabbles against the couch, dropping the bokken onto the cushions, trying to push himself up and over the back so he can stand on his feet. As relentless as ever, Tobio stands behind him with the crop raised as if he’s ready to swing again, despite the clear look of doubt on his face. 

“Shrek,” Kei says desperately, “Shrek, Tobi, _Shrek_ —”

It’s stupid, their safe word, picked for the first movie they connected over as they sat on this very couch in this very room, what feels like ages ago. As soon as the word crosses his lips, Tobio drops the riding crop. He crosses the distance between them before it even hits the floor. His face is ashen and his eyes are dark with worry and regret.

“Kei,” he says, “did I hurt you? Are you hurt?”

Tobio wraps his arms underneath his chest, pulling him upright. Kei immediately collapses backward, barely able to keep his feet under him. He tries to make sense of the words, but his brain is still going slowly as it tries to process everything that happened. He clings to Tobio as he navigates them around to the front side of the couch, where he picks up the bokken and relocates it to the coffee table. 

Tobio slides onto the couch on his back, pulling Kei down on top of him. He arranges him carefully, tucking Kei’s long legs between his own, hooking his ankles over the back of Kei’s calves. He drags the blanket out from its basket under the coffee table and pulls it over them both. That’s when Kei realizes how hard he’s shivering, despite the sweat — or maybe because of the sweat, which is rapidly cooling on his clammy skin. It’s not the most comfortable position in the world, because the couch isn’t big enough for the both of them like this, but they try.

One of Tobio’s hands presses firmly in between Kei’s shoulder blades, directly over his Karasuno crow irezumi. The other strokes through his hair, and it’s such a reassuring sensation that he relaxes into it. He buries his face in the crook of Tobio’s neck and breathes deeply. Silken hairs tickle his nose, but he does his best to ignore them as he continues to breathe, smelling _home._

Kei is so tired and his brain is exhausted too. He tries to sort through what exactly happened as he lays on top of Tobio on their too-small couch, as his heart tries to slow down and regulate itself. He tries to forget his childhood but memories still break through every now and then. He’s never had such a raw and visceral reaction before, never lost himself like that. It felt like he was dying, like he couldn’t breathe—

“You left,” Tobio says from underneath him. 

It’s all he says as he continues to pull his fingers through Kei’s sweat-soaked yellow curls, tugging them into little tufts. It's an apt description, delivered in Tobio's characteristically short manner. 

“I left,” Kei repeats, numbly. 

He’s wracking his brain, trying to figure out what the actual fuck just happened to him, but he’s exhausted. It’s so hard to think, but he knows that _he knows_ what this is. He’s read about it before, in that psychology class he had to take as a general education course back at Berkeley. He knows the word— 

“Dissociation,” he says as it comes to him. “I dissociated.” 

That’s a new fun and exciting fucking life experience that he could have done without. He tries in vain to remember what his textbook said about it, but he comes up mostly empty. It’s just been too long.

“But why?” Tobio asks, and it’s the simplest question in the world. Kei doesn’t know how to answer him. He doesn’t _want_ to answer him because he doesn’t want to remember again. He stays silent instead, until Tobio continues, “What did I do wrong?”

Kei feels tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes, so he ducks his face down to Tobio’s shoulder. He rubs his face against the shirt Tobio’s wearing, _his_ shirt from _his_ alma mater. He wonders when exactly they got so comfortable together that their lives became this intertwined. 

When did they start wearing each other’s clothing? When did they start to smell the same? When did he decide that it's okay to cry like a little bitch in front of the person who’s supposed to be his shugosha but who has wound up becoming something indefinable instead? Kei never cries and he sure the fuck doesn’t do it in front of other people. He’d never cry in front of someone whose good opinion actually matters to him, yet here he fucking is. He can’t help himself and that makes him even more upset.

“Nothing, Tobi,” he says numbly. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I made you angry,” Tobio says, and even though his voice sounds upset, his fingers never stop their rhythmic movements through Kei’s hair. “I made you angry and you left. But—” he pauses and the confusion is evident on his face as he tries to express his thoughts.

“But you make me angry a lot,” Kei finishes for him. 

It’s the fucking truth and he says it easily. They seem to spend half of their time arguing, but that’s just what they do. It’s part of what keeps him coming back for more. Tobio sees through his bullshit and calls him on it. He never makes things easy on him. He makes him _better_ instead.

“Yes,” Tobio says. He reaches down and wipes at the tears still escaping Kei’s eyes. “ _A lot_ ,” he admits. “But you don’t disappear when I do. You fight me. So why? Why did you leave this time?”

“Bad memories,” Kei says, and it gives him such a sense of deja vu: they’ve been here before. 

Part of him is screaming, _Tell him! Just tell him!_ He almost wants to; it almost seems like it would be easier to spill his guts and tell Tobio all of his secrets than to keep this shit boxed up for much longer. But another part of him is whispering, _What does he really know about me, anyway? Does he even want to know? Can he handle my shit or will it just make him run away? Do I really want to open this fucking box?_

The thoughts have barely crossed his mind when Tobio speaks again, when Tobio _asks._

“Do you. Do you want—” he starts, and his voice sounds hesitant. He pauses and swallows, and his voice is a lot firmer when he continues. “Tell me, Kei,” he orders.

Kei goes still under Tobio’s hands, carefully considering what to say. He tries to silence the voice of fear and doubt screaming in his brain. He tries to think of what exactly he should tell Tobio. 

_Aki, you can’t talk about Aki, don’t even think about him—_

He takes too long thinking, because Tobio starts talking again.

“Forget it. You don’t have to,” Tobio says, and he kisses the side of Kei’s head so delicately that his tears begin to well out faster. 

He’s being such a fucking pussy, clinging to Tobio and crying on him like a child. He’s got his shugosha thinking that _he_ did something wrong when everything is Kei’s fault. He’s so disgusted with himself that he makes himself talk. They’ve worked too hard to get where they are now and he’ll be damned if he’s going to be the one to fuck it up.

“Bad memories,” he repeats, “of a time when I was… too little… to fight.” He bites his lip, worrying it between his teeth, before forcing himself to say the next part. “My father wouldn’t let us—”

 _Aki,_ he thinks desperately _, don’t think about Aki._

He can’t go down that road with anyone, not even Tobio, no matter how much he wants to. It’s too dangerous for everyone involved. 

_Don’t think about him, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think—_

“—wouldn’t let _me_ eat, even if there was food. And there usually wasn’t, because we were so poor. But once, there was. He was… angry… that I was hungry, so he made me eat. And eat. Until I was sick. And then—”

The tears are flowing in earnest now and Kei’s shaking harder. Tobio squeezes him so tightly he thinks he’s going to break in half.

“Sorry, Kei,” Tobio mumbles into the top of his head, his voice choked. “ _I won’t,_ I won’t anymore— I wouldn’t, I would _never—_ ”

“I know,” Kei tells him, “I know.” 

He does. That’s the thing: he knows Tobio is only trying to help him. He knows Tobio wants him to build muscle, to become stronger so he can fight better. Tobio wants him to be able to take care of himself just in case he’s not there. It’ll give him a better chances of surviving in the long run. His shugosha is trying to do his best to protect him in every way possible. 

Slowly, bit by bit, he relaxes against Tobio. He’s lulled by his warmth and by the hand stroking his back, by the fingers tugging through his hair. There’s nowhere nearly as safe in the world and nowhere nearly as lovely as right here within Tobio’s arms. As Kei sorts through the boxes in the attic of his memory, packaging bullshit up for later discovery, he lingers over the one labeled with his brother’s name. He contemplates the feel of Tobio’s hands against him, and he considers.

“I was… afraid,” Tobio says out of fucking nowhere, and Kei is jolted out of his thoughts by those words. 

“What?” he asks, baffled. It’s a hard left turn, and his brain is still thinking, _Aki, what about Aki—_

“When you left,” Tobio says. 

Kei sits up a little, as best as he can in this position, so he can look Tobio in the eye. This seems more important than his own fucking story time. He’s never heard Tobio say the word “afraid” before, let alone admit to any sort of fucking fear.

“What?” Kei repeats, dumbfounded. “Why were you afraid?”

“You were _gone_ ,” he says. “Here, but _gone._ I didn’t know—” Tobio lets out a confused, frustrated sound. “How to find you. I have to be able to find you. I am your shugosha.”

Something twists deep inside Kei: twists and breaks. He thought Tobio looked vulnerable in his sleep. That’s nothing compared to the expression on his face right now, to the mix of fear and confusion in eyes that are normally always clear and sharp. It’s different and somehow worse than the expression he had worn when he said, _“He’s a goddamn monster and I am too.”_

Kei feels like the worst sort of monster because he left Tobio and he can’t bring himself to tell him why.

“You found me,” is all he can say. 

Tobio may not know much about his parents or anything about his brother — _keep him safe_ — but even without that history, he knows how to find Kei. He knows how he likes to hold onto his bokken when he’s anxious, so much that he’s worn grooves into the grip with his worrying. He knows how to hit him in just the right way to clear his mind, to put him into a beautiful headspace. He knows how to hold him, how to touch his hair, how to find him when he gets lost within himself. 

_Tobio knows him._

It’s a revelation. Tobio talks to him when he doesn’t talk to anyone. Tobio is confessing his fears when he’s never admitted to any before. Tobio is _trusting_ him. Kei has spent a decade building up walls and shoring up his defenses, but he decides all at once that maybe Tobio can come live inside them with him. Tobio lives inside his loft with him, anyway, and he wears his clothes, and they even smell the same now. What the fuck is the difference? 

_Fuck it,_ Kei decides, recklessly. _Fuck it._ Tobio is trusting him. Kei has to return the favor.

“I had to,” Tobio says brokenly. “I had to find you, Kei. I _need_ you.”

“I’m here,” Kei says as he gently places two shaking hands on Tobio’s cheeks. They’re wet under his fingers, which is another shocking development. He’s never seen Tobio cry before and he can’t think of anything else to do but attempt to kiss his tears away. He brushes his lips lightly across Tobio’s face and tastes salt.

It’s not enough for Tobio, the softness, the sweetness; he tightens his fingers in Kei’s hair as they kiss, holding him firmly in place while his tongue slips between his lips. He whispers something that Kei can’t comprehend because he’s too busy kissing him back, too busy sliding his hands under his fucking Berkeley shirt, too busy pressing down against Tobio’s body. 

Tobio’s hands drift down Kei’s back as he uses his very impressive abs to sit up underneath them, pushing Kei up and onto his knees. He brings his hands down to cup his ass before they drift lower, hovering lightly over the marks from the riding crop. Kei hisses an indrawn breath as Tobio puts the slightest bit of pressure against them, over his pajama pants; he mumbles something into Tobio’s mouth that sounds like _please._

“I need you,” Tobio says again, next to his ear.

“I’m here,” Kei repeats, because he is. 

_I’m here because of you,_ he thinks as he lifts his shirt over his head. 

_I’m here with you,_ he thinks as he tilts his hips to help Tobio pull his pajama pants down. 

_I’m here until the end,_ he thinks as Tobio turns him so he’s laying over the arm of the couch. 

_I’m here I’m here I’m here—_ he thinks as Tobio very carefully pushes into him just the way he likes best after they’ve used the crop, so that his legs press against the welts at the same moment he hits that sweet spot deep inside. 

“I need you,” Tobio gasps as he begins to move.

“I’m here,” Kei whispers as he braces himself on the arm of the couch, as he braces himself to spill all of his secrets. 

_Tomorrow_ , he thinks, before Tobio _moves_ and he can no longer think at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't use the Kageyama Tobio method of pulling someone back from a PTSD-related flashback, you guys. There are better ways. He's a fucking assassin with a boyfriend who enjoys pain and he doesn't know any better. I worried about writing this part like this, because it's very much NOT what you should do when someone dissociates. But if you've made it this far in this AU, you should know that Tsukikage are brutal and into pain; this works for them. Don't try this at home.
> 
> Don't make fun of their safe word, either. It's something easy for Tobio to say.


	4. nobody knows

_Why won’t you help me? Why won’t you tell me?  
_ _It’s been hurting_  
 _It’s all just been hard from here._  
-elsiane

It doesn’t happen tomorrow because it’s one thing to make a decision but another thing entirely to actually go through with it. Kei broods, considering and reconsidering, trying to figure out the best way to tell Tobio. It’s not an appropriate moment when they sit on the couch, when Kei shows Tobio ‘Star Wars’ for the very first time.

“They can’t shoot,” Tobio grumbles as the stormtroopers fail to hit Han Solo and Luke Skywalker each and every fucking time they fire a goddamn blaster. “This is stupid. You cannot deflect gunfire with a glowy sword.”

“It’s not a glowy sword. It’s a lightsaber,” Kei corrects him, “and you can do anything as long as the Force is with you.”

The Force is not with Kei, because he can’t bring himself to tell Tobio the next week either. That weekend is the grand opening of Karasuno’s fourth casino location and they lounge against the bar, sipping drinks and watching the crowd, alert for any potential trouble. They wear dark slacks and silk shirts with their collars unbuttoned and Kei keeps glancing at how the leather straps of the shoulder holster fit across Tobio’s chest. 

It’s a rare enough occasion that his guard dog dresses in anything other than his practical, combat-ready clothing, so Kei feels no guilt at all when he takes full advantage of the evening. He leads Tobio around the casino floor like he’s arm candy, taking small sips of the expensive whiskey they’re served so he won’t lose his head too early in the evening. He flirts shamelessly with him while Tobio regards him impassively, his eyes dark with the promise of payback later.

He doesn’t regret refusing to potentially ruin the evening with too many truths. He doesn’t regret it either when another week passes, and another, then a whole month. If there’s anything the boxes Kei has stored away prove, it’s this: he’s a fucking pro at avoiding things. Time passes, and Kei avoids, and Kei waits.

🌛👑🌜

One day Tobio comes home from a job in the early morning hours and he’s as pissed off as Kei’s ever seen him. This is new: Tobio never comes home from a job angry. He’s good at what he does and he enjoys his work. He always comes home pleased and excited, so fucking aroused from the thrill of the chase and the kill. It gets Kei hot just thinking about it because they usually fuck for hours afterwards. He always stays up when Tobio’s gone and he tells himself that it’s because he’s anticipating his return; it’s not because he’s worried for his safety or anything like that.

It’s different this morning when Tobio lets himself back into their loft. Kei’s sitting on the couch when he hears the door open, drinking a latte and reading the news on his phone. The promise of the sun is fading the night sky and it’s starting to lighten just a little bit outside. There’s a soft thud from the genkan as Tobio kicks his boots off and he walks into the living area grunting his “tadaima” sullenly. There are dark, wet spots on his black killing gear and Kei immediately stands and crosses the room to him.

“Are you hurt?” he demands, ripping at the straps on the tactical vest. 

He needs to see for himself, to make sure Tobio’s okay. His shugosha glares at him and knocks his hands away.

“No,” Tobio says shortly. 

“You’re covered in blood,” Kei says, stubbornly reaching for him again. Tobio doesn’t push him away this time. “You had to get in close. You couldn’t shoot them?”

“I didn’t kill anyone tonight,” he says, and Kei blinks. 

“They… got away?” he asks. 

It’s unthinkable. The Black Dog of Karasuno is the best. No one has ever gotten away once he’s on their trail because he’s so goddamned relentless in his pursuit.

“No. Sawamura-oyabun ordered me to bring him in. He wanted to extract information.”

“Oh,” Kei says, frowning. 

It’s an unusual request. They usually do those sorts of jobs together and Tobio doesn’t do well with breaks in routine. They both expected tonight’s work to be a simple kill. When it comes to interrogation, they’re a team: Kei asks the questions and gives the orders while Tobio does the dirty work. He should have been there, and he wonders briefly why the oyabun didn’t call him in. Everyone knows that Karasuno’s shingiin is the best at cross-examining witnesses. 

“Who questioned him?” he asks. “Suga-san?” 

The Silver Crow is another effective inquisitor, having done the job long before Kei or Tobio ever started working within the family.

“No. Sawamura-oyabun did,” Tobio answers, scowling as he begins to remove his shoulder holsters. 

That’s another surprising fact: the oyabun rarely gets his own hands dirty. He’s too busy talking with other important people in the underground, making strategic decisions and ensuring his people follow through. 

“You should have been there, Kei. He was lying. He fooled Sawamura-oyabun.”

Kei’s interest is definitely piqued now. In the dozens of scenarios where they’ve worked together, interrogating people of interest to Karasuno-kai, the Black Dog has never once expressed an opinion on his line of questioning or his judgement. Tobio listens while Kei asks questions. He rips off fingernails, pulls out teeth, breaks bones and cuts skin without protest as Kei instructs him to. 

Once or twice he’s suggested a more effective torture method and Kei is always happy to defer to his excellent judgement on the matter. It’s an easy partnership. They make a brutal fucking team and they almost always get the information they’re looking for.

“Why do you think he was lying?” Kei asks, reaching out to undo a buckle that’s being particularly stubborn under Tobio’s fingers. 

There are buckles everywhere on his killing gear: on holsters at his shoulders, hips and ankles, on the tactical vest, on forearm and hip knife sheaths. Tobio glares as Kei’s slender fingers take over, but he doesn’t move to stop him this time.

“His eyes lied,” Tobio says. “You would have seen it.” 

Kei would have. As a consummate liar, he can recognize another one immediately. He knows all their tells and he understands the intricacies of the mind palace since he’s worked so hard on building his own. It’s why he’s so goddamn good at questioning people of interest and why he’s done so well at sorting and stashing his boxes.

“Did you tell Daichi?”

There’s another scowl, but Tobio’s anger is melting away, leaving something else in its place. 

“Yes,” he says. “He got mad. Told me my job _isn’t to think, it’s to kill._ ”

Red clouds his vision immediately. Kei feels himself flush; his whole body goes instantly hot with rage on Tobio’s behalf. 

“He fucking _what?_ ” he sputters as he hooks his fingers into Tobio’s belt, jerking him closer. “He fucking said _what?”_

Kei knows better than most how much of a temper Sawamura Daichi has, but even he finds it hard to believe that the oyabun would insult his hitokiri in such a manner. Tobio’s such a goddamn good assassin _because_ he’s got such a beautiful mind; he’s phenomenal _because_ he can analyze problems from complex angles and figure out probable outcomes. 

A hitman who can only take orders is of little use to the family. Any low-level shatei can kill when they need to and all the kyodai certainly _have_ killed. A hitokiri who can think for himself, who can anticipate his target’s moves, is invaluable to an oyabun. It’s one of the many reasons that Karasuno’s Black Dog is so feared.

Tobio looks up at him, his eyes dark. Kei keeps his fingers looped through Tobio’s belt, pausing for now in his endeavor to undo all the buckles while he listens.

“He said guard dogs can’t think for themselves,” Tobio says bitterly. “All they can do is _obey their master._ Had me take him back where I found him. He _saw my face_ , Kei. He saw my face and Sawamura-oyabun made me let him go.”

Kei is furious. Tobio is always very careful to conceal his identity when he goes out on jobs: a silken kerchief can be pulled up to cover his nose and mouth and a hood conceals his hair, shading the rest of his face. It’s for his own safety, to keep him blurred on cameras, to protect him in case someone else sees him murder.

“What the fuck is his goddamn problem? He’s putting you in danger needlessly,” Kei rages, clenching his fists around the belt. “I’m going to fucking kill him—”

“You can’t kill the oyabun,” Tobio says. “Suga-san would be upset.”

“ _You’re_ upset,” Kei says. “And _I’m_ the only person allowed to upset you. What exactly did you say to Daichi?”

Tobio takes a deep breath. 

“I told him, ‘He’s lying. Kei would be able to tell. Call Kei.’”

 _Ah,_ Kei thinks. _That’s why, then._

It suddenly makes sense: Sawamura Daichi is nothing if not prideful. In the thirteen years he has been oyabun, he’s turned Karasuno-kai on its head. He’s cleaned up the streets, brought in more profits, put money back into the community. He’s done hard work to erase the damage their fathers did before them. His pride is understandable, but sometimes it causes him to do stupid shit, like offend and upset his prize hitokiri. 

Tobio’s words, true though they are, would have easily been taken as an insult by their bull-headed, hot-tempered oyabun. But Tobio’s been part of Karasuno-kai for years now, and if Daichi would take a single goddamn moment to think about how Tobio thinks and speaks… no, he’d still lose his cool. It’s why he doesn’t usually interrogate people, and Kei is once again aggravated on Tobio’s behalf. Daichi was in over his head and he was out of line.

It’s gratifying that Tobio recognizes how good he is at his job. It sparks something warm in him and Kei feels his lips tugging up at the corners. He knows Tobio is observant, but he hadn’t realized he was learning to pick up on the subtle cues their victims give throughout the interrogation process that allow Kei to analyze the information they provide. 

Curiously, he asks, “How did you know his eyes were lying?

“You taught me,” Tobio says.

Kei tilts his head, giving Tobio a quizzical look. “What do you mean? How did I teach you? I’ve never told you what tells I look for when I question people.”

Tobio shakes his head. 

“You didn’t have to. They looked like yours. When you lie to me.”

Kei feels his stomach drop and he swallows hard. “I don’t lie to you,” he says easily, despite the nausea that immediately washes over him. He forces his face to remain calm as he gazes at Tobio. 

_He knows he knows he knows—_

“Yes,” Tobio says, his voice cold. “Like that. They look just like that.”

“I don’t—” Kei starts, but Tobio’s stern gaze unravels him. He tries again. “I don’t _want_ to lie to you, Tobi. But I’ve _had_ to.” 

_Tell him tell him tell him—_

“You lie to me because you don’t trust me. Even after all this. You don’t trust me. No one does. I am only the Black Dog.”

“I trust you,” he tells Tobio, looking down at him seriously. “And Daichi is an idiot if he doesn’t trust you too.”

“Do you?” Tobio asks as he meets his gaze, and there’s that look in his eyes again. “Do you trust me, Kei?”

Kei tilts his head as he examines Tobio’s face, trying to figure out how to read that look, trying to figure out how to answer. It seems obvious. Tobio is a fucking assassin and he sleeps in Kei’s bed. The trust Kei has for him is clear. 

“Of fucking course I do, Tobi. You’re my shugosha—”

It’s the wrong fucking thing to say because Tobio immediately closes down. His jaw sets and there are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. They harden in a way that Kei has never seen before, and he vaguely wonders if this is what Tobio looks like right before he kills. 

“You trust me to kill for you,” Tobio says. “You trust me to protect you. Sawamura-oyabun trusts me to do these things too. Is that all I am good for? Killing? Protecting?”

“Tobi, _no_ —”

“Is that all I am to you, Kei? Your _shugosha?”_

“What? Tobi, no—”

Tobio takes a step back, pulling himself free from Kei’s fingers. He shakes his head as he turns, his shoulders slumping with weariness.

“I am going to bed,” he says. To Kei’s distinct horror, he begins to walk in the direction of the guest room rather than the stairs that lead to the bedroom they’ve always shared. “Try not to die while your shugosha sleeps.”

“Stop, Tobio,” Kei says, and even he can hear how it sounds like he’s begging. He doesn’t care, because this may be the most important conversation he’s ever had in his life. “Stop, Tobi, _please_. I want— Let me tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

Tobio pauses in the hallway, turning back to look at him. The expression on his face is so clearly hurt and distraught that Kei would promise him anything. He decides, instead, to give him everything.

“Talk, then,” Tobio says, and waits.

He tries. The words don’t come. 

“I… I can’t,” Kei says, shaking his head. “It’s so much.”

Wordlessly, Tobio turns his back and continues toward his room. 

“Wait!” Kei says frantically. “I can’t tell you but I can show you. Please. I need to show you. Can you just…” he hesitates, stumbling over the story. 

Trapped within his chest, his heart begins to pick up its pace. Trapped within his mind, the boxes are ready to be ripped open and set on fucking fire. Once he does this, there’s no going back, and that thought is terrifying. Kei twists his hands in the hem of his shirt because his bokken is upstairs and Tobio is down the hall and he has to hold onto something. Outside of the guest room, Tobio shakes his head and turns his back again, opening the door.

“Change your clothes,” Kei says. “Please. I need to take you somewhere. You can’t have blood on you.” 

His heart pounds as Tobio turns and gives him an inscrutable look. 

_Please, Tobi_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. _Please, let me show you, before I lose my nerve again._

“I am not wearing a suit,” Tobio says finally, and Kei nearly sags with relief. 

“That’s fine, that’s fine, we’re not going to the courthouse,” Kei replies, the words tumbling out of him. “You can wear anything you want, just no blood, we’re taking the bike—”

“Shut up, Kei,” Tobio says wearily. “I’ll go with you. Just shut up.”

He shuts up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my favorite moments in this fic are all the little times Kei lusts over Tobio, like when they're in the casino. That image of both of them leaning there drinking in their fancy clothes... ugh, I need to take a cold shower. They're both so hot for each other.


	5. fire meet gasoline

_So come on now, take the match, strike the match now  
_ _We’re a perfect match, perfect somehow_  
 _We were meant for one another, come a little closer: fire meet gasoline._  
-sia

The bike in question is an obnoxiously lime green Kawasaki Ninja H2 SX and it’s Kei’s favorite thing in the world right after Tobio and his katanas. It’s a much nicer version of the shitty 250R that got him through the years he spent at university. That one had a little 249cc engine and a peeling vinyl seat that he had to cover with duct tape to keep it from stabbing his ass. 

This one is nothing but luxury and power. Saeko worked some sort of magic at her chop shop and he doesn’t know what the fuck she did, but the bike is fast as hell and an absolute joy to ride. Tobio usually throws a fit if Kei tries to make him ride bitch, so it’s a true testament to how few fucks he has left to give when he mutely takes his helmet and climbs on the back. 

Every time they ride the bike together, Kei is reminded of the night they first met. He had just started his work as Karasuno-kai’s shiingin a little over three years ago, newly returned to Tokyo after his time abroad for university. Semi Eita’s band was performing at a bar just inside Shiratorizawa’s borders, and word on the streets was that Tokyo’s yakuza were welcome to attend. It was a rare invitation onto Shiratorizawa turf, and one that Karasuno-kai couldn’t turn down. 

_“You will go,"_ Suga-san had ordered Kei, _“to represent the family. You’re a new face here. No one knows what to expect from you yet. Talk to people. Keep your eyes and your ears open. Watch Hinata for me: he’s an unpredictable little shit. Kageyama will be there to protect you both.”_

He had protested, of course. 

_“If I am to be shingiin, I have to maintain a facade of normalcy,”_ Kei had said. _“I can’t be seen in a hotbed of yakuza activity with an arsonist and an assassin, not if I want to be taken seriously in the courtroom. I have to look legit.”_

 _“So don’t go in looking like a respectable citizen,”_ Suga-san had said dismissively. _“It’s a fucking yakuza-owned establishment. Go to the bar looking like yakuza. Go to the courthouse looking like an upstanding citizen and a pretty boy lawyer. No one will put two and two together.”_

It’s actually a really fucking valuable lesson. Kei takes it to heart, and it colors every aspect of the rest of his life. He sorts his different lives into separate boxes, taking great care to maintain a specific appearance for each one. 

He shows up to the bar on the back of his bike, dressed in tight dark jeans and boots, wearing a leather jacket over a slim-fit v-neck shirt. It’s a far cry from his fitted lawyer suits and he knows he looks like a hot fucking hoodlum, all sharp angles and dark colors contrasting with pale skin and golden hair. He stands out, and not just because he towers over everyone.

The leather jacket does a good job of hiding the knives sheathed at the small of his back because there’s no way in _fuck_ that Kei’s walking into a Shiratorizawa bar around a bunch of fucking kyodai completely unarmed. Even if he wants the underworld to view him as nothing more than a “pretty boy lawyer,” to use Suga-san’s words, he refuses to give up that little bit of protection. He’s not planning on having to rely on the family’s hitokiri to save his ass.

He’s already had the dubious pleasure of meeting Hinata Shouyou, Karasuno-kai’s flame-haired explosives expert. The kid has a room at the estates and Suga-san had introduced them shortly after Kei returned to the country. Hinata’s easy enough to spot in the bar, thanks in part to his bright color, but mostly thanks to his obnoxiously loud behavior. He flits around from person to person and Kei can hear his voice from the door. He shrugs through the crowd until he’s hovering behind Hinata, who spins to face him with a startled yelp.

“Tsukishima-san!” Hinata greets him cheerfully, once he recovers from his fright. “Have you met Bakageyama yet?”

It’s an utterly inappropriate name for the figure lurking behind the fucking walking tangerine. Kageyama Tobio also towers over Hinata, but where Kei is all long legs and graceful movements, the assassin is sleek muscles and power. A dark hoodie, black pants and boots are perfectly at home within the bar; they’d also be perfectly at home on Tokyo’s rooftops. Immediately, Kei’s brain makes the connection that this is the assassin Suga-san briefed him on: the Black Dog of Karasuno. 

_Dangerous,_ he thinks, giving Karasuno’s hitokiri a once-over. _He looks like murder. He looks like sex. He looks like what every Hollywood stereotype says an assassin should look like._

Kei banishes his inappropriate thoughts when Kageyama nods silently in greeting. For the first hour of the evening, the Black Dog follows Hinata around the bar like his shadow, standing silently as the explosives expert chats with anyone and everyone. When Yamaguchi Tadashi arrives, the four of them gather together at the bar, a mob of crows. 

They start taking shots, all of them except for Kageyama, who winds up dumping Hinata and Yamaguchi in a cab together after Kei expertly drinks them under the table. The hitokiri sticks around as Kei begins tossing back drinks with Tendou Satori and tossing out insults at that dumbass bleach blond Miya from Inarizaki. At one point, feeling a little sorry for forcing Kageyama to stay with him, Kei turns to talk to him. He’s got his knives; he doesn’t need a bodyguard. It’s the first time all evening that he speaks directly to the assassin.

“You can go,” he says after throwing back another shot. “You don’t have to stay with me.” 

It’s a stark juxtaposition, the first and only time he’ll utter those words; for the rest of forever, it will be “ _you have to stay, Kageyama, you can’t leave me._ ” 

Kageyama shakes his head impassively and lingers as the crowd begins to thin, watching Kei while he continues to drink. He’s a silent presence next to him at the bar, steadily ignoring Miya’s taunts and the drinks Tendou tries to push on him. When Miya makes a particularly offensive comment that somehow manages to insult both Kei and Karasuno-kai’s honor, Kei finds himself slipping a hand up the back of his jacket, grabbing onto one of his knives in his rage. 

He stops himself when he recognizes a similar movement out of the corner of his eye: Kageyama’s hand is also up the back of his hoodie, as if he’s also reaching for a blade. It’s gratifying, seeing the reaction from the assassin; Kei’s not used to anyone ever coming to his defense, even if it’s unnecessary. But he feels, as the family’s shiingin, that he has to say something. His job is to provide legal advice, so he does.

“Stop it,” he hisses at Kageyama under his breath, so low that no one else can hear. “You can’t kill him here.”

The hitokiri gives him an expression that so clearly reads as _no fucking shit_ that he doesn’t actually need to _say_ anything. But he opens his mouth and speaks to Kei, anyway, and his words are a surprise.

“I don’t kill people I dislike,” Kageyama says. “That shows motive. That is stupid. I only kill for the job. A hitokiri must be untraceable. Killing because I want to is traceable.”

His tone is oddly flat, inflectionless, but his words show a fucking intelligence and knowledge of the legal system that Kei lives by every single day. Most kyodai play loose and fast with the law, discounting it as it serves them; that’s why families need lawyers like Kei, after all. Kageyama’s out there killing people, but he’s made it a dispassionate part of himself. And he’s right: that’ll make him much harder to catch. Kei’s respect for him ratchets up a notch; there’s more substance to Kageyama than he had originally thought. He nods approvingly, feeling the ghost of a smile cross over his lips.

“Smart,” he acknowledges with an appreciative nod. “Not many people fucking realize that. I bet you give the police hell.”

Kageyama gives him a smug look, and Kei thinks again, _Fuck, he’s hot_. 

He takes another drink. The Black Dog, he decides in that very moment, is not someone who should be underestimated. Kei resolves to take everything he says seriously. They sit in companionable silence as the band finishes their set and as Kei finishes his drink.

By the time he decides he’s ready to leave, Kei is three sheets to the wind, in no shape to actually ride his bike home. He’s outside, staring at it glumly, when he becomes aware of a shadow next to him. Kageyama is there, like he has been all night, giving his bike an appraising look.

“I don’t wanna leave it,” Kei admits without being asked, gesturing to the bike. “I should’ve came here in a fucking cab. I’m trying to decide how drunk I fucking am right now.”

“Too drunk,” Kageyama says, giving a soft huff that could possibly be interpreted as a laugh from anyone other than the assassin. He reaches a hand out toward Kei, beckoning imperiously. “Keys. I will drive.”

“You don’t have to,” Kei protests, considering the idea of riding behind Kageyama on the bike. It seems too intimate, somehow. 

“I do,” he says simply. “Suga-san would expect it.”

Their first ride together is awkward and silent. Kei wears his helmet and does his absolute best to not touch Kageyama, sitting as upright as possible and holding onto the moulded grips at his ass while the world sways around him. The Black Dog is a maniac on the bike, just like Kei; he would appreciate the thrill much more if he were sober, or if he dared cling to Kageyama’s slim waist instead of the bike’s grips. 

They’re caught by a red light halfway home and Kageyama balances them easily with a single foot on the ground. He twists a little on the bike, tossing a curious look back at Kei, who lifts the visor on his helmet so they can speak more easily. Kei is struck by how _goddamn pretty_ the Black Dog is as he straddles the bike with the glowing lights of the city silhouetted behind him, his dark hair blown wild by the wind. He does his best to banish that thought as a lonely, drunken fancy. 

“You’re quiet,” Kageyama says, his steel blue eyes shining in the street lights as he examines Kei. It’s a clear invitation to speak.

“I didn’t think you liked to talk,” Kei says dismissively.

“I don’t,” Kageyama admits. “But you. You seem like you do. And you’re not talking.”

Despite himself, Kei laughs in drunken delight at Kageyama’s observation. A small pout crosses the hitokiri’s lips and Kei maybe looks at them for just a little too long.

“I like pushing people,” he finally says, “and I have no reason to push you right now.” 

It’s a damn lie: he decides, in this very moment, to try to push Kageyama just a little bit to see what kind of reaction he can get out of him. He’s intrigued by his quiet, passive demeanor.

“You clearly don’t like to be touched,” Kei says in his most casual voice, “but I’m so very fucking drunk right now—” he really is, and he’s making some poor fucking choices choices tonight “—and you’re throwing us around these turns so hard… it’s almost like you want me to hold on to you instead of the bike. Do you want me to wrap my arms around you, Black Dog?”

“Maybe I want to dump you on your ass,” Kageyama says, gritting his teeth. There’s another look in his eyes now, and Kei grins shamelessly at him.

“You don’t,” Kei says with glee, needling him. “You could’ve left my bitchass back at the bar if you wanted. But you _offered_ to drive me home. I think you’re enjoying this, just a little.”

The light turns green and the assassin gives him a glare that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Don’t push me,” Kageyama says in warning before cranking the throttle and bringing his foot back up. 

Kei feels himself grin even wider and he sits up even straighter as they peel away, careful to maintain a safe distance between them. He can feel the heat radiating from Kageyama’s back and he forces himself to stay away from it.

🌛👑🌜

It’s different when they ride together now. They both wear helmets that have a communications system built in so they can listen to music or talk as they ride. It’s not uncommon for them to take the bike to the Karasuno estates together, two hours outside of Tokyo, and whoever’s on the back always clings shamelessly to the driver. Kei throws his leg over the bike and sits, settling his helmet on his head. 

Tobio hesitates briefly before stepping up lightly on the rear footpeg, sliding in behind him and popping his own helmet on. He looks like he wants to sit upright and hold onto the grips, like Kei did on their very first ride, but he begrudgingly slips his arms around Kei’s waist instead. It’s comfortable, having Tobio wrapped behind him like this, warming his back. Kei starts the bike and kicks off, balancing them neatly as they accelerate.

It’s still early out; dawn is breaking and the streets are fairly empty. In their jeans and boots, leather jackets and gloves and helmets, Kei and Tobio are about as nondescript as can be. It’s what he’s banking on, their anonymity, as he navigates them through the streets, slinging the bike around corners and zipping through intersections. 

They leave Karasuno territory behind for the neutral zone, the patch of land in the dead center of the city that contains the red light district. All the families own establishments within the neutral zone, so despite the name small scuffles often break out. Kei feels Tobio tense up behind him when they cross the invisible boundary line, but his shugosha actually speaks as they come through the other side and enter Inarizaki’s borders.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Tobio speaks over the comms. “Where are we going, Kei?”

“Outside the city,” Kei says, gritting his teeth. 

His knuckles are white-gripped on the throttle. He throws the bike around another corner, leaning into the turn; Tobio gracefully moves with him. They balance together so easily on the bike, hurtling through town at breakneck speeds. 

_If only everything were this easy,_ Kei thinks, _if only._

“How long?” Tobio asks.

“An hour,” Kei replies, and they both lapse into silence again.

Kei takes the bike up on the Matsudo Bypass, leaving Tokyo behind. Riding like this is usually meditative and therapeutic for the both of them: the simplicity of balancing, the feeling of _flying_ , is something they both enjoy so very much. But Kei can’t relax on this ride. It’s too important. The kilometers melt away beneath them as they approach Kashiwa City.

Their destination is an ugly building, brown and boxy and five stories tall with big glass windows. It’s perfectly normal and unobtrusive. Kei has nightmares about this building; it’s always lurking on the outskirts of his thoughts. He’s been here more times than he’d like to admit, and Tobio’s complete ignorance as to their whereabouts is a testimony to how fucking stealthy Kei can really be when he needs to. He pulls the bike to the side of the road a little ways down from the building, letting the engine idle while he rests his foot on the ground.

He’s ready to do this. He’s ready to show Tobio his oldest secret. It’s terrifying as fuck, but he has decided that his Tobi is worth facing his darkest memories and his worst fears. Kei picks up and opens the box. He sifts through its contents. Carefully, one last time, he reconsiders his actions. 

If he lets this happen, there’s no going back. Tobio will know everything. And it’s because Tobio deserves to know everything that Kei throws it on the fucking ground, giving it a kick or two. It’s time to get this over with. Kei looks back at the perfectly normal building, and he watches, and he waits.

“Kei, where the fuck are we?” Tobio asks, his voice impatient over the comms. He releases Kei’s waist and sits upright, reaching for his helmet.

“Leave it on,” Kei orders, and he can tell how tense his voice sounds. It arrests Tobio’s movements and he makes a frustrated sound, but he obeys. “Wait. Just wait a moment. Don’t let anyone see you.”

 _Kashiwa Police Station,_ a sign over the door reads, and Kei points to it silently. Tobio makes a noise of incomprehension as he reads it, a clear _why the fuck are we here?_ Kei’s a lawyer; he often visits the local police precinct for work. He wears his fancy suit and his glasses and he drives his sleek lawyer car. He doesn’t show up in leather on the back of a bike. He doesn’t go to police stations over an hour outside of the city either, for that matter. This has got to be a very confusing situation for Tobio, who likes his routines. But the Black Dog is patient, so patient; he’s more patient than Kei deserves, so he waits without another word.

At ten til the hour, a man walks around the corner, heading to the station. He’s tall, but not quite as tall as Kei, and he’s a little bit heavier. His hair is also blond, but it’s darker than Kei’s pale gold curls, and it’s softer and silkier. It’s mostly covered by a cap that perfectly matches the outfit he wears: the sharp, navy blue uniform of a high-ranking police officer. The blond is still evident, however, even under the cap. Their hair stands out in Japan and anyone would be immediately drawn to the exotic coloring.

“Tobi,” Kei says, his voice soft because this is the moment that will change everything. “Look.” He points discreetly and he can feel Tobio’s attention focus.

“Kei, what… wait, _who—_ ”

Even though there’s small differences, they look enough alike that Kei knows that their unmistakable similarities will be immediately obvious to Tobio. Karasuno-kai’s hitokiri has a talent for faces. He can identify his target out of a crowd after seeing a shitty picture just once. Kei knows exactly when Tobio makes the connection, because he stiffens behind him. His hands return to clutch at Kei’s waist and his fingers dig into Kei’s hips.

Kei strikes a match. He tosses it and watches it land right in the middle of his metaphorical box of shit. He sets that bitch on fire. There’s no going back. All he can do now is fucking watch it burn.

“Kageyama Tobio,” Kei says, and his voice sounds small even to himself, “I would like to introduce you to my brother, Inspector Tsukishima Akiteru, Chiba Prefecture Police.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out Kei's motorcycle here: [2020 Kawasaki Ninja H2 SX](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/710294584349032482/759318672346710036/tsukkibikeproject.jpg) with custom stickers and welded-on scabbards to carry his katanas (this is actually a common method of carrying practice weapons to kendo in Japan, according to the internet. And we all know how much we can trust the internet!). Yes, that's a Wings of Freedom sticker: I headcanon that Kei is a Shingeki no Kyojin fan. He seems like he would appreciate the struggle.
> 
> I waffle on back and forth on whether or not Kei is the fire or the gasoline in this relationship. What do you think?


	6. brother

_Brother, does the dark feel warmer than the light now?_  
_Brother, does your hand shake when you strike a man down?_  
_Brother, did you do it for yourself or somebody else?_  
-sam tinnesz

“I don’t understand,” Tobio says as they ride away. “You have a brother and he is not Karasuno and he is a cop—”

“Yeah,” Kei says with a wild and reckless laugh that borders on hysteria. “That’s about it. That’s Aki.” 

He can’t stop shaking, and he knows Tobio can feel him trembling under his gloved hands. The bike weaves through traffic, which is picking up now. Navigating gives Kei something to focus on, something other than the incredibly stupid fucking thing he just did. Only three people in this world know about Akiteru’s existence, though that rooster-headed motherfucker Kuroo Tetsurou is under the mistaken impression that he’s been dead for years. 

Now Tobio knows, so that makes four. That’s four people who can potentially destroy their lives. And because Kei makes such fucking great choices, he recklessly decided that the fourth person should be Karasuno’s fucking hitokiri, their Black Dog. He revealed his cop brother’s existence to a goddamn assassin whose very job is to stamp out potential threats to the family.

“Does Sawamura—”

“Neither one of us wanted this life, Tobi,” Kei confesses, interrupting him before he can get started. The story begins to pour out of him, tinny and hollow over the comms. “Our father ran drugs for old man Sawamura… and I know you’ve heard the stories about him, at least. It was bad. Really bad. All we ever wanted was to get out. To be normal. To have normal lives.” 

Kei allows himself a moment to wonder what a normal life would have been like for him and Akiteru. Would his brother have gone to university? Would Kei still have studied business and law? Akiteru always wanted to become a cop so he could help other people. Kei wanted to become a lawyer because he used to believe in justice. 

If they had been raised by a father who didn’t hit them and a mother who wasn’t an addict, would they have still pursued those things? Maybe Kei would have been an artist. Maybe Akiteru would have been an engineer. There were so many options that were stolen from them and Kei’s salty, so fucking salty about it. He swallows hard, choking down the bitterness and rage, and continues his explanation. 

“Akiteru… couldn’t. He couldn’t get out because he had to take care of me. Our father racked up too many debts and he couldn’t pay them off, so old man Sawamura came for us. Aki started filling in for our father. He started drug running to keep us safe, to feed me, to clothe me, to house us. It was killing him. He’d always wanted to be a cop, you know? So he could help kids like us. And here he was, running fucking drugs _for me,_ to _protect_ me, because our asshole father couldn’t. So when Daichi took over…”

“What did you do, Kei?” Tobio asks, and his voice is soft and dangerous.

“Blood in, blood out,” Kei says, hollowly. “That’s how it works in gangs, right? My life for his. He’d already given up everything for me. I had to return the favor.”

“ _What did you do?”_

“I made a deal with my good friend Daichi,” he says, laughing bitterly. “He wanted me, you know. I was always smart. I was always a good liar. I had more potential than my sweet brother. ‘More ruthless,’ I think that’s what he said. ‘Your brother’s so goddamn honest, he’s going to get himself killed. You, Tsukki, you can lie your way out of anything. You’re so fucking ruthless.’”

Kei blinks back tears. He feels them trickling down his cheeks, unbidden, and it’s suddenly hard to see. He makes a sharp turn, pulling the bike into an alleyway. He cuts the engine, puts the kickstand down, and jerks his helmet off with a sharp motion. He’s wiping at his eyes, furious with himself, as Tobio slowly removes his helmet behind him. 

He’s been crying so damn much lately that he can’t believe he still has tears left. Kei can’t bring himself to turn around. He wants to look at Tobio, but he’s afraid of what he’ll find if he does. 

_Fucking loser,_ he thinks about himself. _Reckless asshole, always making poor choices. I ruin everything. I ruined Aki, I ruined my life, and now I’m ruining him—_

Tobio’s silent behind him, and Kei starts laughing, the sick feeling in his gut turning to hysteria, rising through his chest and bursting from his lips. He laughs, and laughs, _and laughs_ , and then his laughter turns into a ragged sob as he remembers.

🌛👑🌜

Shortly after old man Sawamura dies, Kei is summoned to the estates. It’s an unusual request; he’s only been out there a handful of times with Daichi over the years, since his childhood friend prefers to stay at his own apartment within the city in an attempt to avoid his asshole father. But ever since his Daichi became Sawamura-oyabun, he’s been spending more time out there in his ancestral home, trying to get the family’s shit in order. A car comes to pick him up after Daichi requests the meeting and Kei spends the entire ride convincing himself that something’s wrong. 

_It’s Aki,_ he thinks, _he’s died in a deal gone bad and Dai wants to tell me in person._

His brain won’t shut up and he spends the entire ride in the back seat of the car fiddling with his fingers, frantic with worry. As soon as he arrives, a shatei escorts him to Daichi’s office, and Kei forgets all ceremony as he barges into the room. 

“What happened?” he demands, his words tumbling over each other in their hurry to escape. “What happened to Aki, Dai? Is he dead? Was it Shiratorizawa?” 

He’s come up with all sorts of scenarios in his head and the most likely one is what spills out first. Kei knows that the two families have been at odds over the years, picking at each other’s territory, each trying to get ahead in the drug game. It’s a logical assumption. If Aki keeps drug running for Karasuno-kai, he’ll find himself facing Shiratorizawa’s enforcers at some point or the other. The eagles want to dominate the drug game but the crows refuse to give up without a fight.

Daichi’s sitting behind the desk, his father’s old desk, and it dwarfs him. At twenty-two years old, he’s still practically a fucking child. It shows here in the office, where everything looks just a bit too large and a bit too grand for him, a bit too old and a bit too fancy. He’s wearing a stiffly-collared shirt and slacks, and the matching jacket is hung carefully on a rack in the corner. Dark hair is slicked back from his face and there are deep, bruising shadows under his eyes. Being oyabun, undoing the damage his father has caused, has given him a surplus of sleepless nights. 

_He’s never looked this old,_ seventeen-year old Kei thinks, _nor so young at the same time. Like Aki. Like me._

“What are you talking about?” Daichi asks in bewilderment, looking at Kei. “Akiteru is fine. Why do you think he’s not?”

Kei slumps into one of the leather chairs in front of the desk without being directed to, overwhelmed with relief. He’s hopped up on adrenaline and it feels like his body is thrumming. 

_He’s fine this time,_ he thinks, _but what about the next?_

“I just thought— nevermind, Dai,” he says, shaking his head. “If there’s nothing wrong with Aki, then what? What do you need from me? You haven’t had me out here in years.”

Daichi gets to the point. He’s wanting to invest some of Karasuno’s considerable funds where they’ll make the most impact, and he needs a good business advisor and lawyer. But shatei aren’t exactly pinnacles of intelligence; Kei knows this, because his father has been one his entire life. They’re grunts with little skill, meat-brained enforcers for the family. 

Akiteru is one now, but he’s better than most of them because he’s got brains. If he doesn’t get killed running drugs, he’ll eventually become a kyodai, but Kei still wants better for his brother than that. Akiteru deserves everything he ever wanted, and that doesn’t include being yakuza. Neither one of them want that. Kei listens while Daichi talks, his stomach sinking. He knows what’s coming.

“I want you to do it, Tsukki,” Daichi says finally. “You’re smart and I trust you and you say you want to study law anyway. You could be Karasuno-kai’s shiingin. You’d be an invaluable advisor to the family, to me.”

Kei knows. The former shingiin, Takeda Ittetsu, had been infamous in the underworld for the influence he held over old man Sawamura. If Kei gave the slightest shit about becoming yakuza, he would jump at the offer - have his education paid for, become a real lawyer and live a cushy life? It sounds fucking great, but Kei’s not naive. He _knows_ what the life is like, with his asshole father and Sawamura and Sugawara’s asshole fathers, and with Kuroo’s subsistence on the streets. He wants _better_ than that for himself and his brother. 

“Not a chance in hell, Dai,” he says easily. “You know that. This isn’t my life. I’ve never kept it a secret from you that I want to be legit.”

“I had thought,” Daichi said with a frown, “that because of Akiteru—”

And suddenly, Kei has an idea. It crashes upon him all at once. He’s seventeen years old and full of piss and vinegar and bitterness and rage, and it spews out of him before he can carefully consider all of the consequences.

“I’ll do it,” he bargains, “if you let Aki go.”

Daichi looks flabbergasted. “What do you mean? That’s not how this _works_ , Tsukki, you _know_ that—”

Kei shakes his head. “What I know is that Akiteru is paying off a debt my father accrued to your father. He had no choice but to pledge himself to Karasuno-kai or your father would have taken it out of my family in blood. _We are not our fathers, Dai. We have to be better._ ” He pauses for a moment, his brain catching up to his mouth. “Blood in, blood out, right? That’s the yakuza way. We’re both Tsukishimas. We share the same blood. You’re not breaking any rules, not really - just take me instead of my brother.”

Daichi gives Kei a calculating look, as if he’s very heavily considering his words. Kei swallows, and goes all in.

“You want me as your shingiin,” he points out. “You want me to help handle Karasuno-kai’s businesses, to argue your claims in court. If you wanted the same old shit, you’d keep Takeda-senpai as shingiin instead of allowing him to retire. You don’t: everyone knows you want to fucking rebuild Karasuno from the ground up.” 

It’s true; Tokyo’s underworld is waiting in barely-concealed anticipation to see what the new oyabun will do. Daichi’s actions can either make the family stronger or send the whole fucking thing up in flames. Kei takes a deep breath and continues. 

“That means you’re going to have to listen to new advice and consider new things. And if you have me as shingiin, I’m not going to fucking scrape and bow to you like Takeda-sensei did to your father. I’m going to fucking argue with you, because that’s what advisors and lawyers do. So here’s my first argument, my first business deal, and you can take it or leave it: You can have me, or you can have Akiteru. You can’t have us both. If you keep Aki, I am leaving town and you will never fucking see me again. Karasuno doesn’t own me yet and you can’t stop me from leaving _._ But if you want _me,_ you have to let my brother go. And you and I will negotiate my complete terms for my education and my compensation. Take it or leave it, Sawamura-oyabun. I’m not your bitch boy yet. Figure out if you want me to be.”

Daichi laughs delightedly, but there’s an edge to his voice when he replies. 

“Tsukki, you never fail to surprise me. I should know better by now. I’ll consider your deal and get back to you with the terms later.”

The matter is dropped, and they spend the rest of the hour drinking tea and eating pastries like old friends before the shatei who drove Kei comes to collect him and return him home. Before he’s deposited in front of the tiny apaato he shares with Akiteru, he receives a message from Daichi.

**Dai [5:32p]:**   
I agree. What are the rest of your terms?

**Me [5:41p]:  
**No one touches my brother, ever. You forget he exists. You pay my tuition completely, as well as any related expenses like travel or materials, and I get a monthly stipend for my living expenses. I will be permitted to practice law or business on my own when I return, as long as I prioritize Karasuno’s cases ahead of anything I do privately. 

**Dai [5:56p]:**   
Agreed. I will do you one better: I will put you on the accounts and give you the books so you can pay for these things yourself. And you’re going to university in the United States.

**Me [5:58p]:  
**What?

**Dai [6:05p]:**   
The kyodai who runs our drug trade there was recently killed. I need someone who can oversee the flow from Mexico to Hawaii. Apply to universities somewhere around there. I know you speak English.

**Me [6:07p]:  
**You want me to deal with our American drug trade? While I’m at university trying to learn business and how to be a fucking lawyer? And the last one was murdered on the job?

**Dai [6:13p]:**   
You want me to forget Akiteru exists. I think you’ll figure it out.

**Me [7:34p]:  
**Fine. I agree to your terms.

**Dai [7:42p]:**   
Tomorrow, you and I will meet with Akiteru. We’ll let him out and bring you in. I’ll send a car.

**Me [7:46p]:  
**See you then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kei: You realize I don't actually SPEAK English, right? I took the same fucking English class in school that you did.  
> Dai: Yeah but dude you always got great grades.  
> Kei: That doesn't mean I speak it.  
> Dai: Guess a bitch is gonna learn then.
> 
> Headcanon: Kei very quickly picks up English during his years in the United States. Due to his involvement with Karasuno's drug trade, and dealing with the cartels, he also speaks Spanish passably by the time he returns to Japan.


	7. man or a monster

_You can’t take back the damage you’ve done_  
_Oh, you can hide but you can’t run_  
_Afraid of what you might become: a man or a monster._  
-sam tinnesz

Akiteru protests, of course. He’s enraged when Kei tells him they are meeting with Sawamura-oyabun the next day so Kei can swear his oath to Karasuno-kai. They rage at each other late into the night after Kei sends his acceptance text to the oyabun.

“Absolutely fucking _not_ ,” Akiteru seethes. “You’ve lost your mind, Kei. You’re too goddamn bright to waste your life with Karasuno and the yakuza. You’re going to school. I’ve got enough stashed for your first semester’s tuition—”

“Karasuno will pay for my education,” Kei says, calmly. “It’s part of the deal.”

“Yeah, but the _cost,_ ” Akiteru says. “You’ll owe them for life. Once you join, you can’t quit.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Kei says, and his voice sounds wild and dangerous even to him. “If you drive a hard enough bargain, apparently, you can do anything. Sometimes you _can_ quit.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Akiteru asks. “If Sawamura sinks a shit ton of money into your education, there’s no way he’ll ever let you quit.”

“Not me,” he says. “You, nii-san. If I do this, if I take this vow, Dai will let you out.”

Akiteru bursts into laughter. 

“You’re kidding. There’s no way he’ll let me out. I swore to his father. And even if he would, _no._ ” He says that word with great finality. “You think I’d let you trade places with me? You’ve lost your goddamn mind. You’re not swearing into Karasuno-kai, and you’re not trying to do some dumbass shit where you take my place within the family. I’ve made my bed and I’m going to lie in it. It’s not that bad of a life.”

Kei knows a lie when he hears one. Akiteru is miserable. This is not the life he wanted, so Kei decides to remind him of that fact.

“You wanted to be a _cop_. Did you forget that already? ‘I’m going to help kids like us,’” Kei says, mimicking Akiteru’s voice. “But here you are, running fucking drugs just like oto-san. You’ve got to stop before you get caught or before you get killed. I’m going to be _shingiin_ , Aki, a fucking lawyer. I’ll be much safer than you. We’ll be on the right side of justice—”

Akiteru laughs again, and this time it’s bitter. 

“You’re so fucking naive, Kei,” he says, and there’s a sharp edge to his voice. “There’s no justice for us or anyone like us. There’s no such thing as _safety_ when you’re yakuza. Dai is lying to you, _using_ you, and you’re too dumb to see it.”

“Maybe I am,” Kei admits, “but it’ll be worth it. It has to be better than this.” He waves his hands, gesturing toward Akiteru, encompassing their cramped apaato. “It has to be better than spending every fucking day worrying about the only person who actually gives a shit about me.”

“No,” Akiteru says one last time. “And that’s that. Go to sleep, Kei. You have school tomorrow.” 

Kei lays on the futon and thinks. He reconsiders the deal he made with Daichi one last time, but his decision never, ever wavers. He wasn’t lying to Akiteru - he knows he’ll have a much better life as shingiin than Aki will have as a drug-running shatei like their father.

The problem is this: Akiteru has spent his entire life protecting Kei and he’s not about to stop now. He’s also made up his mind, and Kei gets his stubbornness from somewhere. So as Aki slides into the futon next to him, Kei thinks and Kei _plots._ He runs every possible scenario through his head and when he finally lands upon the one that he thinks will _work,_ his heart shatters. 

As Akiteru snores softly next to him, Kei pulls out his cell phone and starts sending off rapid-fire texts to Daichi, blinking back his tears. And when it’s all planned, he rolls over and cuddles up against his brother, his protector and his safety, one last fucking time.

🌛👑🌜

They pick Kei up from school right after kendo club practice is over. The same nondescript vehicle he took to the estates the prior day is sitting outside waiting for him. He is surprised to see Daichi sitting in the backseat when he climbs in. Kei gives him a questioning look, settling his school bag on the floor between his legs.

“We have him,” Daichi says, nodding in response. “They’ll meet us there.”

Kei swallows, his stomach roiling with nausea. He opens his school bag and pulls out another rucksack. This bag is smaller, but it doesn’t need to be large. He’s stuffed a few precious things in there: a couple of photos, a letter he wrote during his lunch break and his childhood blanket.

“You made a hard choice,” Daichi says, and Kei looks at him silently. There’s nothing to say. Daichi made a hard choice too when he and Koushi killed his father. He knows all about hard choices. Kei’s no murderer, but he’s about to kill the only person who’s ever loved him. It’s a bitter pill to swallow. 

When they pull onto the Matsudo Bypass, Kei gives Daichi a calculating look. He left the specifics up to the oyabun and his wakagashira; he has no idea where they’re headed. 

“Where are we going, exactly?” he asks.

“Kashiwa,” Daichi answers. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a thick envelope, passing it over. “I made the arrangements. Here you go.”

Kei opens the envelope. It’s stuffed with cash, a set of keys, and several folded documents. He pulls the documents out and a passport falls into his lap. He opens it and sees his brother’s face staring back at him. 

“You kept his given name,” Kei says.

Daichi shrugs. “It won’t make a difference. We gave him the most common family name possible. And Kashiwa is a large enough city. It’s a fresh start, like you asked.”

“It is,” Kei says, lapsing into silence once again. He stuffs the documentation back into the envelope before sliding the whole thing into the rucksack. 

“It’ll be hard,” Daichi says. “Don’t falter.”

“I won’t,” he says. “I can’t. It’s Aki.”

It’s after dark by the time they pull into Kashiwa’s city limits, and the driver navigates them expertly through the city until the buildings begin to look more rundown, seedier. They stop just outside of an industrial complex and there’s no one and nothing else around except for another car, sitting idle. Their driver comes around and opens the door for Daichi; Kei lets himself out, carrying the rucksack.

Akiteru is forcefully dragged from the other car, a dark bag over his head. His hands are bound behind him with zip ties and Kei’s heart hurts to see his brother so restricted. He wants to run to him, to cut him free, but he can’t. All he can do is stand next to Daichi and listen while Akiteru begs.

“I don’t know anything,” his brother is saying, his voice frantic, rough. “I’m not important, I’m not worth your time, I can’t tell you anything— just let me go, man, I won’t report this to the wakagashira, no one will ever have to know—”

“Be quiet,” Sawamura-oyabun says in his most authoritative voice as the bag is ripped from Akiteru’s head. His eyes are red-rimmed and dark, and he somehow manages to look simultaneously relieved and terrified when he recognizes his oyabun’s voice. And then his eyes lock onto Kei’s.

“Kei,” Akiteru says in desperation, “Why are you here? _What did you do?_ ”

“What I had to,” Kei says impassively, his voice calm, his features perfectly relaxed. Inside he’s screaming, but every moment in his life up until this one has ensured that he grew up to be a perfect liar. He uses it to his advantage now.

“Your numbers have come up short,” Daichi says. 

It’s a lie. It’s Kei’s lie, plotted with the oyabun so he’ll get what he wants, what he needs. 

“For the second month, Tsukishima-kun. I let it go last month for the sake of my dear friend, your brother. But I couldn’t take your disrespect again this month. Kei has kindly agreed to pay off your debt.”

“ _What?_ ” Akiteru exclaims, clearly shocked. “No, Sawamura-oyabun, there’s a mistake— I would never steal from Karasuno, I would _never_ , not with Kei—”

“I saw it myself,” Kei says, interrupting him with his laziest voice, as if he really doesn’t care about what Akiteru’s saying. “Sawamura-oyabun turned the books over to me already. There is no mistake.”

“I didn’t,” Akiteru says again. “Kei, you know I wouldn’t, _I wouldn’t dare_ , what kind of shit are you trying to do—”

“Shut up, Akiteru,” Kei says coldly.

Daichi nods at the shatei standing next to Akiteru. One punches him in the face and the other kicks him in the gut. It effectively shuts him up. He topples over and Kei does his very best not to wince. Instead, he watches as Akiteru is given the beating of his life. He _has_ to watch; this was his idea and he has to see it through.

They’re systematic, these shatei: they work Akiteru over from top to bottom, ensuring that he will be nothing but one giant bruise the next day. There’s no broken bones, no internal injuries, just a lot of fucking pain. It’s a beating Akiteru needs to remember, that Akiteru _has_ to remember, so he doesn’t ever try to come back for Kei.

“You’re lucky,” Daichi says when it’s all over, his voice harsh, “that you have such a caring brother. Someone who is willing to take your place.” 

He opens his jacket, revealing a knife strapped at his waist; he unsheathes it and passes it to Kei, who takes it mutely. The shatei have Akiteru on his knees between them now, and he’s swaying from side to side. Kei walks over to them. 

_Don’t look don’t think don’t look don’t think—_

“Blood in, blood out,” Kei says, and he lashes out with the knife with precision. 

He’s been practicing kendo since he first started school and his blow lands perfectly, cutting a vicious arc across Akiteru’s right shoulder. It’s long but shallow, nothing more than a scratch, really. But blood immediately begins welling from it, soaking through the shredded sleeve of his t-shirt. Akiteru cries out and his eyes stare at Kei’s in deep betrayal. Patently ignoring him - _don’t look don’t think don’t feel_ \- Kei holds up his left arm and very delicately slices into the underside of his wrist. His own blood drips down and pours onto his fingers, soaking into the ground.

“Accept my oath,” Kei says, turning to look at Daichi. “This one,” he nods to Akiteru, who’s now crying silently, “is no longer a Tsukishima. But I still am. I swear myself to Karasuno-kai until the end of my days. I will put this family before myself in everything I do.” 

He holds the bloody knife back out to Daichi, grip-first. The traditional sake ceremony would have been a lot easier, but this one carries more symbolism, more weight. It’s a shit load of theatrics, but it’s necessary. Tsukki would never hurt his brother. Kei would, and Kei does, in order to save him.

“I accept,” Daichi says immediately, taking the knife back. He wipes the blood off with a silken handkerchief, regarding the scene before him. Kei looks between Daichi and Akiteru. His wrist throbs; it’s the only thing he can feel.

“You’re done, Akiteru,” Daichi says. One of the shatei cuts the zip ties at Akiteru’s hands as the other lets him go. He slumps forward, barely catching himself in time. “If I ever catch you back on our turf again, you’re a dead man. You should be already, but Kei drives a hard bargain.”

“Kei…” Akiteru says weakly. “Don’t do this… you’re all I have.”

“It’s already done,” Kei says, digging his fingers into his palms. His throat is tight, but he forces himself to speak. “You don’t have me anymore. You lost me when you decided to steal from my new family. Like our mother stole from us. I thought you were better than that, Aki. I won’t let anyone steal from me ever again. Now get the fuck away from me. I can’t stand to look at you.” 

_Lie, so he’ll be safe. Lie, so he won’t die. Lie, so he’ll believe you. Lie, so he can live._

The look that Akiteru gives him when he raises his head is so full of pain and anger that his lie immediately becomes a truth: Kei can’t stand to look at him anymore, so he tosses the rucksack at his feet and turns aside. Daichi shakes his head at Akiteru one last time before striding back to the car. Kei follows him. Behind him, he can hear the shatei taunting Aki, aiming more kicks at him. 

_He’s got the money and the papers,_ Kei thinks desperately as he slides into the car. _He’ll be okay. He can start fresh. He can live his life. He’ll be better off without you._

“The body?” Kei asks, once they drive away.

“It’ll wash up sometime later this week,” Daichi says. “They’ll call you to identify it.”

“Okay,” Kei says. “Will it look like him?”

“The same hair color,” the oyabun says, “but it will have been in the water for awhile - the features won’t matter. We took his identification and it’ll be on the body when it’s found.”

Kei nods. Tsukishima Akiteru is dead, and Tsukishima Kei now belongs to Karasuno-kai. It’s done. He’s done. As the glittering lights of Tokyo appear in the distance, Kei wonders if he’s really the one who died, because he feels nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The theatrical bullshit Kei does in this chapter is largely inaccurate - I admit to taking some liberties here for the drama. Typically when a new shatei swears to the oyabun, there is a sake ceremony: the oyabun pours himself a larger portion and a smaller one for the shatei, and they sip from each other's cups. My purpose in changing this was thus: one, to demonstrate Kei's proficiency with bladed weapons from a young age, and two, to show that he's willing to be absolutely brutal to drive his brother away in order to save him. 
> 
> There's also the symbolism of "blood in, blood out," which is common in gangs: kill someone to join the gang, leave the gang by dying. Kei symbolically "killed" his brother by shedding his blood and declaring him no longer family. 
> 
> Anyway, I beg your indulgence for this inaccuracy. It felt theatrically fitting, so I hope you are willing to suspend your disbelief and roll with it :)
> 
> PS: Not like it matters, but he's now Sato Akiteru.


	8. you've seen the butcher

_I wanna watch the way you creep across my skull_  
_You slowly enter ‘cause you know my room_  
_And then crawl your knees off before you shake my tomb._  
-deftones

“Breathe, Kesha,” he hears behind him. “Breathe with me.” The words don’t make sense.

There are arms wrapped tightly around him, one palm spread over his heart, the other on his stomach. There’s warmth at his back and he can feel the rise and fall of Tobio’s chest where it presses against him. He makes a garbled sound, panting furiously, lightheaded, his own hands clutching automatically at Tobio’s arms.

“I am here,” Tobio says, his lips next to his ear. “I am here with you. Breathe with me.”

Kei realizes he’s completely limp, doing his best to slump over the bike, but Tobio’s arms are holding him up and keeping him pulled back against him. He tries his very best to follow Tobio’s instructions, because his shugosha is  _ still here _ even after he learned Kei’s deepest, darkest secret. Kei hasn’t managed to drive him away yet. 

_ Don’t leave me don’t leave me don’t leave me— _

“Don’t leave me,” he says, and it takes a moment before Kei realizes the words came from Tobio’s lips rather than his own.

“Don’t leave me,” Kei says, repeating Tobio’s words. He adds, desperately, “I  _ need _ you.”

“I am here,” Tobio says once again, burying his face into the side of Kei’s neck. His heart is still pounding, but he’s coming back into himself again.

“Bad memories?” Tobio asks, and Kei nods.

“The worst,” he says, and although his tongue feels heavy he’s able to explain, “I drove him away. I had to make him stay away, Tobi, he couldn’t come back… it had to be  _ bad. _ I had to make it as bad as I possibly could. I destroyed him.”

“If anyone finds out you have a brother, they will kill him,” Tobio says matter-of-factly.

“Yeah,” Kei says. “He’s ex-yakuza. That’s a death sentence if another family finds out. And he’s a cop. That’s a death sentence if anyone in  _ our _ family finds out.”

“Sawamura knows,” Tobio says. “And Suga-san?”

“They helped,” Kei says. “There was a body… a new identity… Daichi arranged it and Suga-san made it happen. They know. And now, when Daichi tells me to do something I don’t want to do—”

“Does he— he threatens him. Doesn’t he. He uses him to control you.” 

There’s a new note in Tobio’s voice, one Kei can’t define. He’s too tired to even properly try. He just nods, leaning back against Tobio’s chest. His shugosha slides his arms down to Kei’s waist and links his fingers together, pulling him tightly against him. 

“And now you know,” Kei says. “There are three people in this world now who know that I have a living, breathing, brother. He has a real life now without me. A wife and kids. A whole goddamn family. None of them know I exist. None of them know that he was ever Tsukishima Akiteru or that he has a little brother named Kei.”

“You do this,” Tobio says. “You knew when he’d be here. You come to watch him.”

“Sometimes,” Kei admits. “I just want to know he’s okay. I never let him see me.”

“When you would sneak out. When you would give me the slip.”

“Yeah,” Kei says. “Mostly it was because I was coming here.”

“You told me,” Tobio says, and there’s a strange note in his voice. “I am hitokiri and you told me about your secret cop brother who has a family. Who has children. They would all be so easy to kill.”

“Yes,” Kei says, exhaling sharply. “Because I don’t just trust you to kill, Tobi. I trust you  _ not to. _ ”

“Oh,  _ Kesha, _ ” Tobio says with a sigh. It huffs past Kei’s ear. “You dumb fuck.”

He’s frozen, unable to turn around to look at Tobio, terrified of what he’ll see in his face. His voice gives nothing away; it’s flat and nearly inflectionless like always, so it’s no help. Tobio releases Kei abruptly, climbing off the bike. 

“Get up,” he orders Kei, who can’t seem to make his legs work. When he fails to move, Tobio grips Kei’s jacket and pulls. Kei manages to finally swing one leg over the saddle, allowing Tobio to drag him to his feet. “Look at me,” he demands, jerking Kei toward him so there is barely any space between them.

The fire burns out. All that’s left is a pile of darkened ashes. Kei can taste them in his mouth, bitter and acrid and grainy. He swallows, his throat dry and sore, and he waits for Tobio’s judgement.

“You are so smart,” Tobio says, glaring up at him with those steely blue eyes, “but you are an idiot. You made your poor choice. He made his. You want a family so bad? What the fuck are we? If not that?  _ Asshole. _ ”

Kei feels his jaw drop. Tobio releases his collar and loosely wraps his fingers around his throat, and he can feel his pulse fluttering beneath them. They linger there for a moment, a reminder:  _ I hold your life in my hands. It belongs to me. _ Tobio twists his hand so that his palm cups Kei’s chin instead, pushing it up to close his mouth, and then he tilts his face up so he can press their lips together. It’s sweet and gentle, just what Kei needs. Inexplicably, he feels another tear trickle down his cheek. 

“I need you,” he repeats, directly into Tobio’s lips.

“I know,” Tobio says after he pulls back from the kiss. “Dumbass. You think too much. You keep this secret for how long?”

“Since I was seventeen,” Kei says, taking another ragged breath. “Since before I was even an adult. So fucking long.”

“Too long,” Tobio says. “I don’t give a fuck. About your brother. Only you. If you hurt, I hurt. So tell me this shit. Your secrets are my secrets. Stop lying. Stop leaving me.  _ You are mine _ .”

“Okay,” Kei says, digging his fingers into Tobio’s shoulders as he looks into his eyes again. 

They’re as fierce as always, but now they also have a certain softness to them. They remind Kei of how they look on those sun-drenched mornings when they wake up tangled in bed together. They look like they do when they’re naked and exposed in front of each other, before they can put on their clothing and their armor, before they go outside to face the world.

“Say it,” Tobio demands.

“I won’t lie to you anymore,” Kei says obediently. It’s the fucking truth. “I’m yours.”

Tobio studies his face carefully before brushing Kei’s hair back, his gloved fingers running through the mess of curls. 

“Good,” he says, satisfied with whatever it is that he sees there. “I’m driving home.” 

Abruptly, he releases Kei, who sags without anything else holding him up. Tobio swings his leg over the bike, mounting it smoothly, before looking back impatiently at him. 

“Hurry up,” he says. “I want to go home now. I need to fuck you.”

There’s nothing Kei can say to that. He needs Tobio to fuck him, so he hurries.

🌛👑🌜

This ride home is different from any other. They pass the first half of it listening to music while Kei clings to Tobio, one hand on his hip. The other is slid up underneath his leather jacket and soft t-shirt. He traces the outline of Tobio’s abs, feeling them quiver underneath his touch. They’re going so fast, Tobio deftly swerving and weaving between the cars, that Kei is half-afraid a cop will try to pull them over. Not like they could; no one can keep up with them at this pace. They’re driven by desire, want and need.

There’s music playing over their helmets. While the rhythmic beats usually keep Kei strumming with energy, they’re having the opposite effect today. The music lulls him and he starts thinking about Akiteru again, about what he did to him. He’s glad they’ll be home soon because he’s raw and empty after the day’s events, after burning his boxes and choking on the ashes. He wants to sleep or maybe drown himself in the bathtub. That could be nice. 

_ Is this how Tobio felt when he came home from Seijoh? _ Kei wonders absently, his fingers slowing in their movements.  _ Now he knows how much of a monster I am, too.  _

Tobio turns the music off and the sudden silence is shocking. 

“Stop thinking,” he says, his voice loud in the emptiness. “I  _ feel _ you thinking.”

“I can’t help it,” Kei says numbly. 

“Then stop thinking about bullshit,” Tobio orders. “You’re getting upset.”

“I can’t help it,” Kei says again.

“Kei,” Tobio says, “tell me.” His voice sounds calculating, purposeful. Kei doesn’t understand the question. 

“Tell you what, Tobi?” he asks.

“How you want me to fuck you,” Tobio says, and in his voice the words are an order. 

Kei feels heat creeping up his face at the command, hidden under his helmet. This is new — they don’t  _ ask _ each other these things, they just  _ do. _ They very rarely  _ talk _ about sex; they use sex to  _ talk _ , instead. Kei stammers, trying to figure out how to respond. Tobio decides to clarify.

“Do you want it in the bed?” he asks. “On the couch? Standing?”

“So many options,” Kei says, flustered. His brain is still trying to think,  _ You’re so fucked up, you’re such a monster, you’re so fucked up— _

“You might need it hard,” Tobio says, talking over the voice in his head, “to restart your stupid brain. To fix it. Maybe in the genkan. Right against the door.”

Kei blinks, trying to process that image, and Tobio continues. “From behind. Your face shoved up against it. So you can’t see. So you can’t fight me. Defenseless.”

They’ve done that before, but it was the other way around. Tobio was the one pressed up against the door. He’d walked in from one of his late night jobs and Kei had been waiting, lurking just inside the entryway for him to return. He’d given Tobio new knives and he’d spent the whole night thinking about how he’d use them.

They’d started in the genkan but had ended up in the middle of the floor in the living area, the pieces of Tobio’s killing gear strewn about where they’d ripped it off in stages. Kei had gotten his hands on one of the new knives and he’d dragged the cold flat of the blade all over Tobio’s body until he was begging to be fucked. They’d broken the coffee table at some point that night. It’s a very, very nice memory. Heat pools in Kei’s gut as he thinks about it. 

“Maybe you need to be cropped,” Tobio says conversationally. “Standing on your toes, all stretched out, arms over your head. Thighs exposed for me. Unable to move.”

That’s a nice fucking image too, and Kei’s fingers tighten on Tobio’s stomach as he pictures it. 

“You like that one,” Tobio observes. “You always like being cropped. Do you need it, Kei? Do you want me to fuck your thighs?”

He considers that question carefully. Kei  _ does _ like it when Tobio hits him with the riding crop and he knows how much Tobio enjoys his thighs. He’s got a length of chain suspended from the ceiling in the studio and he can loop his hands up into it so he has something to hold onto when Tobio strikes his ass and thighs with their favorite toy. It’s an amazing way to clear his head, to stop himself from thinking. Kei wonders if that’s what he needs today.

“No,” he says finally. “Not today. I’m already empty. I need you to fill me, instead.”

“Hard?” Tobio asks. “Or soft? Like in the mornings?”

“Yes,” Kei says. “Just like that.”

“Okay,” Tobio says simply, and then, “we’re here.” 

They’re pulling into the garage under Kei’s building and he hadn’t even noticed they’d made it back into the city. He flushes even darker under the helmet when he realizes just how effectively Tobio distracted him from his thoughts. He’s half-hard in his jeans from imagining the different scenarios Tobio suggested, all thoughts of his brother banished. They’ve been replaced by fantasies of a panting, begging Tobio instead. 

They park the bike and Kei climbs off first, unstrapping his helmet and pulling it over his head. Tobio’s got his off already, and there’s the faintest blush dusting his cheekbones and the tips of his nose and ears. Kei feels inexplicably shy as he turns toward the lift, but Tobio grabs his hand before he can walk away. He laces their gloved fingers together and squeezes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Tobio helps Kei out of his panic attack in this chapter is actually a pretty good representation of what should be done: comforting compression hold and regulating breathing works well for some people! This was much more accurate than the cropping scene from earlier. I'm not a doctor (well... I am... but I'm not a medical or mental health professional) so don't take any of this bullshit as actual advice. Conduct your own peer-reviewed research or talk to someone who has the credentials to advise you.
> 
> PS: They're gonna finally fuck next chapter. Thanks for making it this far. Writing dirty-talking Tobio cracked me up.


	9. be there

_You’re my way out, you’re my way through  
And I can’t, I can’t be without you  
So be there when I need you most.  
_-seafret

They set their helmets on the shelf inside the genkan, pausing to kick off their shoes, removing their gloves and jackets. Tobio regards Kei with a little smirk, glancing between him and the back of the door, and suddenly Kei’s filled with _need._ He reaches for Tobio, intending to pull them together; Tobio just shakes his head, taking his hand again and linking their fingers. He proceeds to lead Kei up the stairs to their bedroom.

Within the room, Tobio pulls Kei into his arms, settling his hands on his lower back just underneath the hem of his shirt. They’re hot and heavy there, pressed against the field of sunflowers Akaashi Keiji inked onto his skin only six months prior, a continuation of his irezumi meant to symbolize his profession as a lawyer. Tobio trails his fingers upward and Kei knows that they’re now tracing over the delicate swarm of fireflies that bridge the gap between the sunflowers and the Karasuno crow spread across his shoulder blades. Some nights Tobio will lay him out and count them, pressing his lips against each one, murmuring his name as he tastes them.

Kei begins to relax under the hot hands tracing patterns up and down his back. He leans his head down and Tobio lifts his up and their mouths slot together perfectly. Tobio tugs at his lower lip and Kei obediently parts them, letting his tongue in, allowing it to caress his. It’s a slow kiss, soft and languorous, full of want and need. Kei feels taut muscles loosening as their tongues stroke together, hot and slick.

Tobio’s hands come up his shoulders and neck so they can cup his jaw, holding him in place while he kisses him expertly, thoroughly. His eyes are closed and his cheeks are just the lightest shade of pink, and Kei’s heart aches so much to see him that he closes his eyes, too. His own hands hook into Tobio's belt.

His shugosha breaks off the kiss and steps toward the bed, leading him closer. While Kei watches, he lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Tobio _still_ looks like both murder and sex, with his sleek muscles and quiet power. When he’d first seen him in that dim and dingy bar three years ago, he’d had a fleeting thought of how hot it would be to have Karasuno’s infamous Black Dog in his bed for a night. Never in Kei’s wildest imagination could he have known exactly how fucking incredible the experience would turn out to be. Never in Kei’s darkest dreams would he have considered the idea that he could somehow manage to _keep_ him there night after night, until the rest of forever.

He’s come a long way in three years. Kei’s not the same pretty boy lawyer he used to be. He’s got a few more scars now, courtesy of several fights he never wanted to be in but managed to survive anyway. Tobio reveals them as he tugs off Kei’s shirt, as he unzips and pulls down his jeans. His fingers trace over them, raising goosebumps on Kei’s flesh. They linger the longest on the slice on his lower stomach, the wound that had originally brought them together. It’s Kei’s favorite scar.

He’s got a little bit more muscle now, courtesy of a shugosha who feeds him properly and forces him to lift weights several times a week. Tobio places his hands on his hips before dragging them upward, his thumbs running along his abs, tracing the curvature of lightly-defined pectorals. His irezumi has grown to cover his entire back and there are outlines of birds all over his upper arms, waiting to be filled in. There’s a crow for each kyodai in Karasuno on his sword arm, and there’s an eagle for Tori on his left. Tobio touches each one as if he’s counting them, committing them to memory.

Most importantly, he’s got Tobio now, who pulls him out of his own head when he goes in too deep. His shugosha found him when he was lost in oblivion and dragged him back. He’s taken a bullet meant for Kei; he’s killed several people who intended to cause him harm. He gave himself willingly to Seijoh to protect him. The Black Dog has seen the darkest parts of Kei’s soul and accepted them, welcomed them. 

_We’re both monsters_ , Kei thinks, _but at least we’ve got each other._

Tobio’s hands coax him onto the bed with none of their usual harshness. They both like it rough; they like scratching and biting, shoving and hitting. They’re not _normal_ by any means. They like fighting and they like fucking and sometimes they like doing both at the same time. Once upon a time Tobio watched him neatly disembowel an attacker with his katanas, and he had him on the ground on all fours before he could even clean the blood from his blades. They’re fucked up. It’s just how things are between them. They spend most of their days living fast and hard because they know that death can always be lurking right around the corner.

But today Kei needs it slow and soft and Tobio understands. He’s gentle, laving his tongue in little circles around Kei’s nipples, his hand lazily stroking his dick. He trails a string of soft little kisses over each individual rib, licking into the hollow of Kei’s throat as he shivers under his touch. He pulls the lube from the nightstand and takes his sweet time preparing Kei, slipping one slick finger after another inside of him, until Kei’s reduced to panting and squirming and swearing underneath him.

“What, Kei?” Tobio asks, his lips bruising the underside of his jaw while his fingers move in and out, thrusting steadily and relentlessly. “What do you need?”

 _“Fuck me,”_ Kei pants, rocking his hips to encourage Tobio to go deeper. His movements are futile because Tobio is so patient in all things, and he’s not ready to give Kei more just yet.

“How?” Tobio asks. “How do you want me to fuck you?”

It’s too much to think about, too difficult of a question to coherently answer as he writhes on Tobio’s expert fingers. They’ve found his sweet spot now, curling deep inside, and a low moan escapes his lips while Tobio sucks another dark bruise onto the side of his neck. He’s covered with them by now, little blue-black marks up and down his thighs, his rib cage, his neck and shoulders and jaw. Tobio’s been busy reducing him to this begging mess, every movement calculated and gentle. 

“Tell me, Kei,” Tobio orders, before he tugs at a nipple with his teeth.

“Like you mean it, Tobi. Fuck me like you mean it.” Kei says, his back arching off the mattress, following Tobio’s movements. 

“I always mean it,” Tobio says, slowly withdrawing his fingers. 

Kei whines at the feeling of emptiness when they slip out of him, pushing his hips up, trying to chase them down. Tobio patiently ignores him, shifting his position so that he’s on his knees between Kei’s thighs.

“Like you need me, then,” Kei says, spreading his legs as wide as he can. 

Tobio places his hands on his thighs, squeezing, before he guides Kei’s knees to hook over his hips. They’ve done this enough times by now, switching back and forth, that the movements are practiced and automatic. Kei reaches down to grasp Tobio, to guide him in; Tobio sinks into him easily as he shifts his weight onto his forearms, bringing their bodies flush together. He makes a choked sound at the sensation and Kei echoes it, closing his eyes and looping his arms around Tobio’s broad shoulders. His hands feel the raised scars underneath them and he spreads his palms over the ruined irezumi.

“I always fucking need you,” Tobio says, resting his forehead against Kei’s. 

They look at each other, unmoving, and something wordless passes between them. Kei can’t seem to open his fucking mouth without a lie falling out and Tobio has difficulty forming the simplest words. But when they’re joined like this, unable to tell where one body begins and the other ends, they share every need, every feeling and every want. They speak silently and perfectly and they understand each other like no one else possibly could. 

Kei breaks the silence first, rolling his hips upward. 

“Move, Tobi,” he whispers. “ _Move_ , please, I need to feel you, I need you—”

“I’m here,” Tobio says, shifting his forearms just a little so he can bury his fingers in Kei’s golden curls, rocking his hips and thrusting into him.

They move together like that for a few minutes, lazily, whispering at each other. Their bodies grow slick with sweat and Kei’s cock grows more and more sensitive, trapped between them. He whines each time he grinds into Tobio and their words slur into strings of impassioned profanity. Frantic for release, Kei loops a hand around his cock, stroking it in time with Tobio’s thrusts.

“Harder, Tobio,” he demands, the fingernails on his other hand scraping at the scarred irezumi on his shugosha’s back. “Faster. _Fuck me like you need me—_ ”

“I do need you, Kesha,” Tobio pants, and his hips snap quickly, driving him relentlessly into Kei. 

He pauses just long enough to rise onto his knees, grabbing both of Kei’s hands in his own. Kei whimpers and squirms, trying to force him to move again. He struggles to put his hand back where it was, to grab himself again, but Tobio laces their fingers together. He falls forward, pinning Kei’s hands down onto the mattress over his head before he proceeds to continue fucking him as if he’d never stopped. 

“I need you, I need you, _I need you_ —”

“I’m here,” Kei echoes as heat spreads all over his body, as all of his muscles quiver. He slams up against Tobio with all of his might, crying, “ _Fuck, Tobi, I’m here—_ ” 

“I know, Kesha, I know—”

His orgasm tears through him at Tobio’s affirmation and Kei sobs, spurting thick white ropes into the limited space between them. His back arches off the bed and he pushes both of them upward with the force of it, his hands practically crushing Tobio’s fingers. He’s shaking, sobbing, and for the last time that day he can feel tears streak out of the corners of his eyes. 

Tobio lets out a feral sound of his own as Kei clamps down on him. He only manages another few thrusts before he comes as well, his eyes screwed shut and his face bright red. Kei can feel it spreading inside of him, Tobio’s warmth, and he lets out an unconscious little whine. Tobio collapses on top of him, leaving their hands clasped tightly together over their heads. He burrows his nose into Kei’s sweat-dampened golden curls, inhaling deeply.

“Kesha,” Tobio mumbles against his ear, “was that it? What you needed?”

“Yes,” Kei answers, hooking his ankles together behind Tobio’s back to keep their bodies sealed in place. “You always know what I need, Tobi,” he says, rubbing his thumbs against the sides of Tobio’s forefingers. On top of him, Tobio shivers.

“S’because I know _you_ , dumbass,” he says, giving their hands a little squeeze. “No matter what you try to hide. _I know you._ ”

“You do,” Kei admits. “And I know you.”

Tobio doesn’t outright agree but he makes a humming sound that Kei takes as an assent. They lay together in that position for an indeterminate amount of time, their muscles lax. Kei breathes, feeling his heartbeat slowing. For the first time that day, he’s perfectly calm. He’s soaked in sweat and covered in come and he desperately needs a shower, but the world makes sense once again. And because his brain isn’t fighting itself over terrible memories, he realizes something.

“Tobi,” he says. “Look at me.”

Carefully, Tobio disentangles their hands and rolls them onto their sides. Kei shifts his legs a little and Tobio moves one hand to rest upon Kei’s thigh, his thumb rubbing idle circles against the pale skin. He meets his eyes steadily and the question in them is apparent.

“You keep calling me _Kesha_ ,” Kei says, frowning a little as he considers the name. “You’ve done it for awhile and I keep thinking I’m misunderstanding you… but I don’t think I am.” 

To his surprise, a deep flush spreads across Tobio’s face. He drops his gaze and his lips form his signature pout. Karasuno’s Black Dog is exceedingly confident in everything he does, but he looks outright embarrassed as he lays stretched out in the bed next to him. Kei is flabbergasted.

“What is it? Who is Kesha? Why do you keep calling me that?”

Tobio rolls his eyes and looks back up at him, meeting his gaze steadily. 

“You are, dumbass,” he admits. “It’s your name.”

Kei is so very confused, but he doesn’t know how to protest this statement. 

“My name is Kei,” he says, aware that he’s sounding like every bit of the dumbass Tobio just accused him of being. “Tsukishima Kei. The characters read as _moon island_ and _firefly._ Where the fuck does _Kesha_ come from?”

Tobio looks at Kei for a moment. 

“We both have secrets,” he says, and then he spits out something that sounds harsh and guttural to Kei’s ears. 

It’s an entirely different language and he’s speaking it with ease. Kei is captivated by how quickly and naturally the words pour out of him. Tobio has been with him for three years now and this is a completely new party trick he’s showing off. He had no clue Tobio could speak anything other than Japanese and this asshole’s laying here and rattling some bullshit off in another language faster and easier than their native tongue ever crosses his fucking lips. It’s _incredible._

“What the _fuck_ , Tobi?” Kei asks. It’s all he can say. It’s too much, on top of everything else that’s happened today. He has no words left.

“Russian,” Tobio answers, switching back to Japanese. “I speak Russian. It’s your name. In Russian.” Kei scrutinizes him and Tobio squirms a little under his gaze. He’s still a fierce shade of red and he’s having a hard time meeting Kei’s eyes.

“My name is Kei,” he repeats once again, for lack of anything better to say. “Wouldn’t my name in Russian still be… Kei?”

Tobio sighs deeply, like he hates having to explain this bullshit. 

“My name is Tobio. But you call me _Tobi._ So I call you _Kesha._ You make my name English so I make yours Russian.”

Kei doesn’t know when he slipped into the habit of dropping the last syllable from Tobio’s name, when he first started to westernize it into a nickname, but Tobio has never protested and he just took that as another form of mute acceptance from his shugosha.

“Why _Kesha_?” Kei asks. “Does it mean something?”

“Yes,” Tobio says. “It means—” he hesitates, like it’s hard to explain this concept in their native tongue. He looks like he’s trying to figure out the proper words so he can make Kei understand. 

Kei watches him struggle with fascination. The Japanese words seem to be much harder for Tobio to express than the Russian and Kei wonders why that is. It doesn’t matter. He desperately wishes that he could speak Russian too, and he resolves to learn it as fast as he can. He wants to understand what Tobio has to say.

“It’s your name, but… _cute._ ” Tobio cringes as he says the word. “It means... you are _my little Kei._ Maybe _my baby Kei._ It’s… dumb. Like you. My dumbass Kesha.” 

Tobio calls him _my cute little baby Kei_ in one breath and _dumbass Kesha_ in the next. Kei can’t hold his composure; he dissolves into helpless laughter. It starts off as a giggle and Tobio looks at him in abject horror, but it quickly morphs into deep belly laughs. Kei grabs onto Tobio’s biceps as he fucking cackles, throwing his head back, trying to catch his breath so he can speak.

“You speak Russian somehow—” he manages to gasp out.

“I trained with bratvas. To learn different ways to kill. Bratvas don’t speak Japanese.” Tobio is doing his very best to try to look annoyed at Kei’s laughter, but Kei can see the corner of his lip twitching as he tries desperately to control his face.

“—and you call me _your little cute baby Kei—”_

“Shut up, Kesha,” Tobio mutters, hiding his face so Kei can’t see him smile. Kei squeezes him as hard as he can, still shaking helplessly.

“Tobio. _Tobi._ Asshole,” he says with the utmost affection, grinning against his forehead as he squeezes him. “I think you like me just a little bit.”

“I don’t hate you,” Tobio says from somewhere within the vicinity of his neck. “That’s the best you’re getting, asshole. Don’t push me.”

“I would never,” Kei says, placing a kiss on the top of Tobio’s head. “I need you too much, Tobi.”

“I know,” Tobio says. “I need you too, Kesha. Let’s go shower.”

“Not just yet,” Kei protests, tangling their ankles together in an attempt to trap him there. Tobio gives him a questioning look, so he adds, “Give me just a moment. Just… lay there, okay? I need to do something.”

In sweet and silly moments like this, when they’re sticky and stinky and all they can taste is each other on their lips, Kei gets to see a side of Tobio that’s hidden from the rest of the world. It’s his and his alone, so he takes the moment Tobio gifts him to memorize how he’s feeling. He looks past the stickiness and the stinkiness, which are arguably good in their own ways, and he focuses on the big picture. 

He’s warm, lying in the sunshine on their bed. He has a kitchen full of food that Tobio will cook for him so that he can become stronger. He’s safe, wrapped in Tobio’s arms; no one will dare fuck with him when the Black Dog is his shugosha. He is not alone, and he is understood, because Tobio sees through his lies and into his very soul. And he’s unafraid, finally, of what may come next.

There’s a pile of ashes in the attic of his memory, but there’s still a box sitting right in the middle of them. _Tobio,_ it’s labeled, and Kei has been storing these images and memories there for the past three years, ever since the night they first met in that shitty little bar. He’s been packing them away for when Tobio will no longer be present in his life, because Kei has always ruined everything, driven everyone off. He’s always expected that he would drive Tobio away one day too, but he’s finally beginning to believe that won’t happen. Tobio doesn’t run and he doesn’t back down from a fight. He won’t take Kei’s bullshit; he’ll challenge him every step of the way and he’ll make him better because of it.

Kei looks at the box. He takes it in his hands and he rips the fucking lid off of it. He lets every perfectly-stored memory escape. He invites them back into his consciousness to live rent-free. He’s not afraid of losing them, of losing his Tobio, anymore.

 _“I’m here,”_ Tobio had said. 

_“I know,”_ Kei had replied. _“You always are.”_

Kei looks at Tobio, at the soft little pout on his lips and the laughter in his eyes, and he thinks of the name _Kesha._ He thinks of the need between them, and the promises, and he feels _everything_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the sex. My smut always tends to be a little emotional, but I think that really came through in this scene. It wasn't as hot as it could have been, maybe, but Yakuza AU Kei and Kags use sex as a form of communication... and this was the conversation they needed to have. No worries, I'm going to write some really nasty shit in the future for you thirsty hoes.
> 
> Ao3 user batman was my Russian consultant on this fic. I've always known Tobio spoke Russian and why, and I wanted to incorporate that somehow. I learned that the nickname "Baby Sun" is a common term of endearment in Russia, so I asked batman if "Baby Moon" was perhaps another cute nickname that Tobio could use for Kei. It's not, but apparently it's quite common to turn foreign names into nicknames: thus, "Kei" becomes "Kesha." We laughed over that for so long that I knew I had to fucking do it. Tobi and Kesha, each other's forever burdens. These fucking nerds.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for coming along on this ride with me! This is, to date, my longest and most extensive fic. I am exceedingly proud of it: I word vomited this bitch in just over two weeks, and I'm so happy I can release it in time for Tsukki's birthday. Happy birthday, Kei! You are my absolute favorite character. Stay salty.
> 
> This fic was inspired by a conversation I had with my precious bby Tsukishima Zei from Twitter, who always does the most hilarious live tweets when she reads my shit. She wanted to know more about Yakuza AU Kei, specifically his back story. I had only told stories from Tobio's point of view at that time, and I had no plans to switch to Kei's. She made me reconsider, so this fic is a gift for her. Zei, I hope this fic tells you everything you want to know about our pretty boy lawyer. I appreciate your friendship and I love all the music recommendations you send me.
> 
> As always, thank you to my wonderful beta reader [Niko](https://twitter.com/MONANIK2)! Go give Niko some love; they write fic AND they're a brilliant artist! I appreciate the feedback they give me because it helps me make my fics better for all you wonderful people.
> 
> Thank you for sprinting with me and giving me feedback throughout this process, Coz!
> 
> The title of this fic is from the song "Sober" by Staind. Each chapter is also named after a song that reflects the contents of the chapter / reminds me of the feelings of the chapter.   
>  [Listen to the Spotify playlist for this fic here. ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4OwGBy022hY7O3rv7rWitZ?si=WS7MUoInQGiLYj8kpeEQbA)
> 
> Follow me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/kelidahauk) if you haven't already and feel free to slide into my DMs... I love talking with you hookers. Wait. Only if you're 18+ though. If you're younger than that, you shouldn't be reading this nastiness, anyway.
> 
> We have a TKKG Thirst Discord server! [Come join us to chat about TKKG!](https://discord.gg/7wGBcyH) Only 18+ and older, please; there is a lot of NSFW content there.


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